


A Little Help From Your Friends

by rowanix



Series: The Living Ghost [4]
Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, T/W: Suicide mention, also no one dies i figure i should clarify that, hahaha thats when you know youve gone too far with the angst, i will turn it into fluff somehow i swear, its what i'm good at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanix/pseuds/rowanix
Summary: Stuck in a jar, longing to get out, longing to live again, the skull never thought there’d be a future where he wished he had just stayed dead.But maybe all he needed was a helping hand from the people who somehow, against their better judgement, cared. A helping hand from each of them. In turn.





	1. Skully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place around 2 years before the events of A Merry Little Christmas.  
> It should be in about 12 parts, give or take, and each will be named after the character who is the main feature. This'll include some of my OCs from my previous fics.

His senses returned before he could move. Bright light burned just passed his eyelids, a rhythmic beeping assaulted his ears. Neither helped his pounding head... His forearms hurt badly. _Why did they hurt?_ There was a reason, but it was so hard to remember… And there a weight in his hand, soft and warm. Someone was there, holding his hand, gripping it tightly, afraid to let go…

He managed to move his fingers, just a little, nothing but a twitch, but the hand in his squeezed tighter. He heard someone speaking, but couldn’t quite make out the words. Why were his eyelids so heavy? Why did everything hurt so much? He should just give in… Go back to sleep…

“Skully…”

 _Skully_. That was his name. And the voice… That was Lucy… She sounded scared. Had someone hurt her? No one hurt Lucy.

His energy came back in a rush. His eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, something slipped from the finger on his right. The damned beeping machine started to screech. He heard people running towards him, felt hands on his shoulders trying to push him back down, but his eyes wouldn’t focus, and the bright fluorescent lights overhead caused spots to dance over his vision.

“Sir, we’re gonna need you to lie back down so we can reattach the drip.”

His vision was starting to focus. It was a woman who had spoken, dressed in a nurse’s uniform.

Hospital. He was in hospital. _Why was he in hospital?_

“Skull, listen to her. You need to lie back down.”

A.J. That was A.J… Why was he here? Why was Lucy? Weren’t they supposed to be in abroad somewhere? Egypt, was it?

Ugh! It was impossible to think over that god-awful screeching. When he had his energy back, that thing was going through a window for sure.

His head swam, his vision still blurred, but there was Lockwood, hair dishevelled, dark bags beneath his eyes. And Lucy on his other side, eyes wide and terrified, hand still clamped around his.

Why was she so scared? Why couldn’t he remember what he was doing in hospital? Did he fall off his motorcycle? Did another serial killer come knocking at the forensics lab wanting to destroy any incriminating results? Did a Visitor make an appearance? _What?_

His limbs were so heavy. He allowed the nurses to push him back into bed. Let them reattach the oximeter to his finger to stop that infernal beeping. Let them reattach the drip to his arm. His bandaged, throbbing arm.

Now he remembered. This was no accident, no psychotic criminal, no spirit.

He’d done this to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soz lol.


	2. A.J

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Lockwood said.

“If you tell me why I’m not dead,” Skully replied.

Lockwood sighed and ran his hands over his face.

“We asked George to check on you while we were gone,” he said.

“What? You didn’t trust me to look after myself?”

He hated how his voice sounded. Hoarse and weak. Pitiful.

Lockwood levelled a look on him. Maybe it was supposed to seem disappointed, but really, he just looked tired. Exhausted, actually.

 “It’s a good thing we didn’t,” Lockwood said. “Or you wouldn’t still be here.”

Skully tilted his head towards his nephew and gave him a tight smile. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

Lockwood swallowed and looked away. Skully felt a tight twist in his gut. Guilt, was that? He was still barely used to such a feeling.

He cast his eyes over to his left where Lucy was curled, fast asleep, in the chair by the bedside, hand still gripping his. She hadn’t said a word since he’d woken up.

Skully took in a breath of air and blew it out through his nose. “Guess I kinda ruined your holiday, huh?”

“You’re more important,” said Lockwood. And he sounded so certain, Skully didn’t have the heart to argue.

There was a pause. A moment of heavy silence that seemed to weigh down on them. Then Lockwood let out another sigh.

“What happened, Skull? I thought your prescription got sorted out?”

Skully picked at a bandage. Talking seemed like so much effort. Did he have to do that right now?

“It did,” he said and left it at that.

The truth of the matter was it had been coming back on the meds that had done it. The point of them was to give him the energy to do everything that had seemed so hard before. To shower, shave, eat. But they’d also given him the energy to go through with the thing he’d been thinking about doing that one long week when he’d forgotten to renew his prescription. When the world had seemed so dim, and a cold, crushing weight had pressed down on his chest. When doing even a little thing had seemed like so much effort, when nothing seemed fun and everything seemed pointless.

“Listen,” said Lockwood, and Skully knew that ‘listen’. That was A.J.’s about-to-make-a-speech listen. But he was stuck in a hospital bed with nothing better to do, so maybe he’d hear him out just this once.

“Listen,” said Lockwood, “I know the world can seem… awful, at times. And I know it’s hard, when you feel like that, to remember the good things, believe me I know… But you have to _try_.”

Skully looked at him for a moment. “That’s easy for you to say,” he said. “You have something worth living for.”

“Are we not worth it?” said Lockwood.

There was that twist in his gut again. He looked away. “That’s not the same.”

“Why not?” said Lockwood. “And even if it was, you can’t just wait for someone else to come along pull you out of that hole. That’s something you have to do yourself. Trust me on that.” He paused for a moment. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help sometimes,” he finished.

“And be a burden?”

“Your wellbeing will never be a burden,” said Lockwood, firmly.

Skully was too tired to argue with him.


	3. Lucy

The hospital allowed Skully to be discharged early, under the promise that he was not to be left alone.

The drive home was short and quiet. Lucy still hadn’t uttered a word. Skully sat in the back and stared out of the window, watching the buildings pass by but not really seeing them. The whole world seemed out of focus. A grey haze.

Lockwood tried to persuade him to go back to Portland Row, but Skully just wanted to be back at his flat, as empty as it was.

The whole place stank of disinfectant when they got there. And hydrogen peroxide. Perfect for mopping up blood.

George, Quill and Holly were there. They had obviously done the cleaning, though it seemed George hadn’t had time to change his shirt; the sleeves were stained red, the rest covered in spatters. Remnants of having to haul Skully out of the tub.

Lucy and Lockwood had gone in ahead of Skully and were now talking in hushed undertones to the others. They glanced up as Skully walked in. He didn’t bother to say hello.

He walked over to the bathroom where the tiles had been bleached white and the bathtub was probably cleaner than it had been in weeks. Idly, he opened the medicine cabinet. It had been cleared of everything but extra toothpaste. The razors were gone, too. How was he going to shave?

The others were still busy whispering rapidly, so he wandered over to the kitchen, and then to his bedroom. Most cutlery and kitchen utensils had been cleared out, as well as the cleaning products usually tucked beneath the sink. The two sharp daggers he kept hidden in his room were gone. Those had been expensive, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care too much.

He moved back into the living room and stood, staring at the others until they quit their muttering and looked up.

Lockwood cleared his throat. “Look, Skull, we can’t exactly leave you on your own for a while, so Lucy and I are gonna stay here, okay?”

Skully just shrugged.

“Right,” said Holly, gathering her coat. “We’ll just… go.”

Quill and George followed her lead. As they passed Skully, Holly paused, then leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his upper arm before making to leave with the boys.

Skully watched them go for a moment. He told himself not to say anything. His mouth disobeyed.

“Hey, Cubbins?” George stopped and turned back to him. Skully smiled at him. “Let me die next time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy flinch. Why was he like this?

George’s expression had turned dark. When he spoke, his voice was soft and cold as ice, the mark that he was truly angry. “There better not be a next time.”

Skully gave him a loose grin this time, giving no reaction to George’s tone. He couldn’t stop himself. Why did he have such an incessant need to make everyone hate him?  “What ya gonna do? Kill me?”

George looked like he was about to say something else, but Holly put a hand on his arm.

“Let’s just go,” said Quill, softly.

The door shut behind them. Skully walked back to his room and collapsed on his bed.

The bedroom door opened a few moments later, and Lucy walked in. Just Lucy. She walked over and lay on the bed next to him.

“Any reason you’re not talking to me?” Skully said though he knew the answer.

Lucy remained silent for a moment, then, “I’m kinda pissed at you, actually.”

Skully tilted his head towards her and raised an eyebrow. That hadn’t quite been the answer he’d expected. He thought she’d go all sad and sympathetic on him. Somehow, he was glad she didn’t.

“Remember years ago,” said Lucy, “when I said if you did anything suicidal I’d kill you?”

“Don’t take it back now,” said Skully. “I’m counting on you to finish the job.”

She turned her head to him and scowled. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I’m always saying things like that.”

“It’s not the same!” Lucy stressed. “You were never being serious! I never thought you were, at least.”

“I wasn’t,” said Skully.

“And now?”

He didn’t answer.

“Look,” said Lucy. “I’m not gonna sugar-coat it. The world is just one big shit-hole. And the ghost-hunting generation is the generation of mental illness, high suicide rates, and drug-abuse.” She turned to look at him again. “But you don’t have to be like that. I know your mental health isn’t something you can choose, trust me I _know_. But you have so many people who are here for you. We love you so much.”

And maybe that hit a soft spot in his chest, just a little bit.

“I love you, too,” he said. “No hetero.”

She snorted at that. Her first genuine smile all day. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hey! I just tried to kill myself, you’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Nah, that’s just physically impossible.” She picked at her nails for a moment, then, “You used to want to live so much you refused to move on. You came back as a Type 3. What happened?”

Skully sighed. He was still so tired, and there were so many things jumbled together in his mess of a head that it was hard to come up with just one explanation, but Lucy deserved something at least.

“I’ve told you once before,” he started, “when you’re dead you sort of lose a part of who you are. Things become hazy. I really did forget my name for a while. I forgot a lot of things. Like why I wanted to hang onto life in the first place. But I knew I had a good reason, so I kept going. I figured it’d come back to me eventually, and it’d all be worth it.

“Then I got what I wanted. I got brought back to life. And I remembered everything. I remembered why I hung on.” He stopped for a moment. Swallowed. His mouth felt so dry. “My family,” he continued. “My siblings… they needed me. But, they were already dead and gone by the time I got my life back. And everything just seemed so… _pointless_. Everything I held on for, my entire reason for living, long gone.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“I’m so sorry, Skully,” Lucy said, at last.

“No worries,” he said, attempting to give her a smile. “Annoying you kept me going for quite a while.”

“I’m glad,” said Lucy. “I’m just sad it didn’t keep you going a little longer.”

There was a pause, then suddenly she grasped his hand and held it tightly. “This might be the worst you’ve ever felt, but it’ll get better. And maybe it’ll get worse before then, but it will _always_ get better. You just have to keep trying until then, okay? Promise me you’ll keep trying.”

He stared at her. Her furrowed brow, her wide, pleading eyes, and the huge dark bags beneath them.

He could hear Lockwood clanging about in the kitchen, attempting to make dinner without any utensils and all the while being exhausted from jet lag; he and Lucy had taken the first flight home as soon as they heard.

He could still smell disinfectant wafting from the bathroom, where George, Holly and Quill had spent all day scrubbing the surfaces, so he wouldn’t have to come home to blood stains. And then they’d painstakingly searched the flat, ridding it of anything he could do himself harm with.

A lot of what kept people going was a fear of the unknown. Of what awaited them after death. But Skully wasn’t afraid. He’d already seen it once. And he missed it.

But there was no coming back after that. Not a second time, anyway. And these people he had unwittingly befriended, the fact of the matter was that they’d be distraught if he died. And maybe once he wouldn’t have cared, but all that had changed. All thanks to a girl who could talk to the dead.

“Okay,” he said, at last. “I’ll keep trying.”

For them.

For her.


	4. The Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, there is mention of a near sexual assault. Nothing graphic, just some sleazy guys getting handsy, but I thought I'd warn you all just in case.

The nighttime breeze was cool against Skully’s face as he strolled leisurely through the park. He wasn’t supposed to be alone, he knew, but he couldn’t take much longer of being cooped up in his flat, so he’d snuck out while Holly – his babysitter for the day – had been busy making a bunch of dinners to freeze so he didn’t have to bother cooking. She was too nice sometimes, it was sickening.

He sucked in a deep breath of air. There was something about going on a walk after dark that seemed to make the world just melt away. The air smelled different, fresher. Stars twinkled in the sky. There was barely anyone around so no pressure to keep acting human. You could just let everything go for a moment.

He walked this way during lunch break at work, on occasion. He could see the hospital from here, the lights still shining through the windows. He still wasn’t allowed back at work for a few days, but, god, he missed it. Not necessarily the people so much – he didn’t get along so well with them – but the _routine_. The feeling of actually being _useful_.

He watched shadows move past the lit windows. There was supposed to be a new employee joining the forensics department some time, he remembered. He hoped they weren’t as mind-numbingly boring as his other colleagues. You’d think a field in studying crime scenes would attract some interesting people sometimes, but no! At least Rani and A.J. popped in from time to time, or he’d literally go insane.

How long had he been out now? He had sort of zoned out for a while there. He didn’t want Holly panicking and calling the others. He should probably head back.

Then he heard a scream.

A female scream. Skully knew these streets; full of back alleys and pubs and nightclubs. It was just about the time of night that drunken men would be let loose.

The screaming continued. He bolted towards the sound.

A young girl, no older than eighteen, stood cornered in an alleyway, surrounded by men who were getting a little too handsy.

“P-please. No. Just let me go. _Please._ ”

“Come on,” a man was saying as his comrades laughed, “a little dress like that, you can’t expect not to get some attention now…”

Skully didn’t really think before he barrelled straight into him, shoving him away from the girl.

“ _Run_ ,” he told her. “Straight to the police station.”

She didn’t need telling twice.

The lead man picked himself off the ground and glared at Skully. “Think you can get in the way of me getting some?”

Skully gave him a loose smile. “I think I just did.”

Skully had met people like this before. Victorian London had been swarming with them. Once upon a time, he’d have made short work of them; a quick slice to all the major arteries before having Bickerstaff’s burlier men drag the bodies to the basement. They usually wound up in the Thames after that. But now, London’s officers were a little more competent, and Skully couldn’t be bothered with the fuss at that moment. Plus, he didn’t have his knives… And Lucy would probably get mad at him.

Of course, he had ghostly talents at his disposal, but that was to remain a secret. He didn’t want these men blurting out about a man with supernatural powers.

So, when the first man gave a roar and charged towards him, he side-stepped and let him run straight into the wall, where he crumpled on the ground, out cold.

While the other men stood dazed at how fast their friend had fallen, Skully took the opportunity to weigh them up.

Once, a good few years ago, Lucy has asked him if he still saw people the way he did as a ghost – their spirits rather than their bodies. He had told her no, but that wasn’t strictly true. He saw their physical form as anyone else would, yes. But also, just beyond that, their souls. Clearer after dark, like with death-glows. How bright they were. And how rotten. That was another thing; he was sick of seeing all the rot.

These men, they were all rotten. Their souls black and festering, distorting their features. They were hideous to look at.

Skully couldn’t see his own soul in the mirror, but he often wondered, what with all he’d done and his questionable moral compass, whether his soul looked like that. And if it did, whether it could be reversed.

The men came to their senses. The big, burly one took a swing at Skully. He dodged and jabbed his elbow into the back of the man’s neck. The man gave a shout as he stumbled, and his wiry friend aimed a kick towards Skully, who dodged and knocked his other leg out from under him, making him collapse to the ground.

Too preoccupied with the two men, Skully failed to dodge as the final man swung at him. He was an average looking guy, but damn, he could pack a punch, and Skully sprawled to the ground, his right cheek throbbing.

As he was trying to push himself up, the burly man kicked at his ribs, and Skully fell back down, gasping, winded.

Oh, how tempting it was to unleash his powers. But he couldn’t; the truth coming out could lead to the public getting ideas, which could lead to another Problem, the lives of children be damned. People were horrible that way.

Another kick forced Skully to roll over. That one had definitely cracked a rib.

The alleyway was dark, the souls of the men darker. Maybe he’d just let them beat him. At least the girl had gotten away.

Then: light. Almost blinding in its brightness. A person, Skully realised, with a soul brighter than he’d ever seen, who had run over and now stood between him and the three men.

The wiry man laughed. Such a disgusting, nasally sound. “Look at this! A little girl’s come to your rescue. And we thought you’d chased away our only plaything.”

“I’m not little,” said the person, “and I’m not a girl.” And they punched the wiry man straight in the face.

He swayed on the spot for a moment, then fell flat on his face, joining his former leader.

Skully pushed himself into a sitting position, too shocked and in awe to do anything else.

The remaining two men blinked in surprise, then they seemed to come to their senses.

“Kind of small for a boy,” the burly one growled, swinging a punch at the person.

“I’m not a boy either,” they said, spinning out of the way, their long bronze hair flying out behind them, and jabbing the man in his torso three times in quick succession.

The man’s arm seemed to just… collapse.

“What the…?” he started, staggering. That was when the bronze-haired person round-house kicked him in the head, and he fell to ground too.

But now they were facing away from that damn final man, who pulled his arm back ready to punch. Skully didn’t even think before he thrust his hands forwards and sent a blast of psychic wind that threw the man into the wall so hard the brick cracked.

The person turned their head and looked down at the unconscious man, then to the other three bodies, then finally to Skully.

“How did you…?” they both said in unison, then the sound of sirens came into earshot.

The person’s sky-blue eyes grew wide.

“The police are coming? I can’t… I won’t be able to talk to them. I–” They began flapping their arms frantically at their sides.

“Hey,” said Skully, pushing himself to his feet. He made to reach towards them and steady their arms, but they jerked out of the way, so he kept his hands raised, close but not touching. “It’s okay, just run. I’ll handle this.”

They turned their wide-eyed gaze on him. “But… what about you?”

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve already been arrested three times this year and its only March. And, yet, I’ve never been charged with anything.”

They frowned.  “How…?”

The sirens grew closer.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “But trust me, I can handle this. Just go. And thanks for stepping in, by the way.”

They managed to give him a small smile before they ran off and disappeared down the alley, just in time for a police car to arrive and two officers to step out.

“Jim Walker,” said the senior officer. “Why am I not surprised? What’s the story this time?”

Skully grinned at him. “Oh, you know me, Dave. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.”

Dave eyed the unconscious forms over his shoulder, then looked Skully up and down. “And how did you get that cut on your cheek?”

“I tripped,” said Skully. “I’m such a clutz!”

Dave hummed. “You must be, the number of times you’ve just ‘tripped’.”

He put his radio to his mouth. “Need an ambulance and backup, ASAP.”

Skully smiled. The number of times Dave had arrested him, at least he knew by now that these men were no nice guys and backup would be needed.

Dave glanced over his shoulder at the other cop and huffed. “What’re you waiting for, McGuire? Cuff the boy!”

“Oh!” McGuire blurted, fumbling with the handcuffs at his belt. “Yes, sir!”

Skully eyed the other cop. He was younger, perhaps fresh out of the academy, and Skully hadn’t seen him around before. He smiled. Fresh meat.

“Don’t have any padded ones, do you?” said Skully, holding up his bandaged arms. “Only my wrists are a little sore.” He tilted his head to one side and gave the young cop a lazy smile. “Or do you prefer them rough?”

McGuire’s face turned bright red and he began spluttering, dropping the handcuffs in his embarrassment. Skully’s smile grew wider.

Dave let out a sigh. “Walker, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: Stop trying to seduce my officers.”

Skully adopted a looking of mock innocence. “ _Trying_ to?”

Dave just gave him a dead-pan stare, a look he was famous for. “Forget the cuffs, just get in the car.”

Skully happily obliged, and watched through the window as ambulances and more police cars pulled up, officers hand-cuffing the men to their stretchers.

He wondered where the bronze-haired person was now, and if he’d ever see a soul so bright again.


	5. Rani

“Ah, Debbie, you’re looking stunning today!”

Deborah looked up from her desk. A middle-aged police officer with dark skin, wild hair, and broad shoulders. She looked at Skully, from his bruised cheek to the red-faced McGuire who was gripping his upper-arm so he wouldn’t run. She smiled.

“Not, looking too bad yourself, Jim. Take a seat. What’s the story this time?”

“You know me, Deb,” he said, slouching in the chair as soon as McGuire released his arm.

“Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Exactly.”

She flicked open the file McGuire had passed her. “And you just happened to stumble on some unconscious men?”

“Yep.”

“Any reason you were in the area?”

Skully hummed, thoughtfully. “I do remember hearing a girl scream…”

“Uh huh,” said Debbie, scribbling something down. “And you definitely did not attack these men for trying to hurt this girl?”

“I definitely did not, no.”

Debbie put down her pen and turned to face him, propping her head up on her hand. “Is this anything like the time you definitely did not assault that police officer for beating on a homeless boy?”

“Quite like that time, yes,” said Skully, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “Nothing to do with it. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“I see,” said Debbie. She paused as McGuire, still stood guard, got something through on his radio.

“The men are awake,” he told her. “They say two people attacked them.”

Debbie frowned. “Two?”

“A man and a woman,” McGuire affirmed.

Debbie gave Skully a thoughtful look. Then she stood and grabbed her bag and coat. “Come on. Let’s go see if any of these men recognise you. McGuire.” She turned to the young officer. “Go fetch DI Malik-Munro. Tell her to meet us at the hospital in about half an hour.”

McGuire nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Debbie made sure he ran off in the right direction, then lead Skully outside towards her car. Technically, this was against protocol, Skully knew. But he figured Debbie was so used to him by now, she’d rather just get everything over with.

They arrived in only a few minutes and were lead to a ward where the four men were all handcuffed to beds, side-by-side. _Good,_ Skully thought, _that should make things much easier._

“What do we need to be cuffed for?!” the lead guy was growling to an officer. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Sir,” she replied, calmly, “this is just protocol until everything is sorted out.”

“It’s ridiculous is what it is!”

Over in the doorway, Debbie coughed to alert them of her presence.

The younger officer turned to her. “Ma’am, what are you–?”

“It’s alright, Daisy,” said Debbie. “I know what I’m doing.” She took Skully’s elbow and lead him into the room. “Gentlemen,” she said, “is this one of the people who attacked you?”

The men turned to Skully, their expressions turned to fury in recognition. The leader opened his mouth to speak… Then his face went slack. He frowned, confused.

“No,” he said.

Debbie frowned. “Excuse me?”

The other men shook their heads too.

“No,” the leader repeated.

“Then can you describe who attacked you?” said Debbie.

The burly man spoke up, then. “We did.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Debbie repeated.

“We couldn’t decide,” said the wiry man, “which one of us should get the girl first.”

“So, we got into a fight,” the final man finished.

Debbie’s expression turned dark. “And this girl? Was she consenting?”

There was a pause, then, “No.”

“Tsk, tsk, gentlemen,” said Skully. “Did no one ever tell you, _no means no_.”

“No means no,” the men repeated, in unison.

“Daisy,” said Debbie. “Arrest these men.” Then she led Skully back out of the room.

She took him down to the café and bought them both a coffee, then she sat them both down at a table and frowned at him over her cup.

“How do you do that?” she said.

He feigned ignorance. “Do what?”

She just rolled her eyes and sipped on her coffee.

Skully sipped his too, then paused to pile some more sugar in. His powers did have their perks. Most ghosts could only fog a person’s head with Malaise or Creeping Fear, but he could freely tap into that power. Just make a person a little confused, and make them too scared to testify against him, and he could get them to say pretty much anything he wanted. Put a little more fear behind his commands, and they’d never so much as look at another girl the wrong way again. All in a day’s work.

A shadow fell over the table. Skully looked up and smiled. “Hey, Rani!”

“James,” said Rani, coldly.

“Uh oh,” said Debbie. “She’s mad at you.”

“I’ll take it from here, thanks, Deb,” said Rani, taking Skully’s arm and pulling him out of his chair. “Let’s go.”

“What did _I_ do?!” he whined as Rani dragged him from the building.

“You know exactly what you did!” Rani scolded. “Holly’s been worried sick, not knowing where you were. And where do you turn up? By a pile of unconscious men you beat bloody!”

“Hey!” he said. “It has already been established that I am innocent!”

“And how did you get them to establish that?”

They stood by Rani’s car for a moment, glaring at each other, then Rani threw open the passenger door before rounding the car to the driver’s side. “ _In_.”

Skully obeyed and slipped into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

Rani angrily shoved her key in the ignition and started the car, pulling out of the space and towards the road. “Why are you incapable of going anywhere without making a mess for yourself?”

“They were fucking _rapists_!” Skully cried. “I wasn’t just gonna stand by and let it happen!”

“There are other ways to go about things!”

“Sure there are,” said Skully. “Be glad I didn’t kill them. That would have stopped them for good.”

Rani went silent for a moment, and when she spoke her voice was quieter, “Have you… have you ever killed anyone?”

Skully stared out of the window. “No.”

“You paused.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” Rani insisted. “When? How many?”

“Look,” said Skully, “I have never hidden the fact that I wasn’t exactly the nicest guy before I died.”

“But we thought you were joking!” Rani cried. “That you just had a dark sense of humour!”

“I do have a dark sense of humour,” Skully agreed. He paused. "Okay, I can see where the confusion might come from.”

“Holy crap, you _actually_ murdered people.” Suddenly, her eyes grew wide. “Please tell me you weren’t Jack the Ripper.”

“Christ!” he exclaimed. “I’m not some vain arsehole who kills women and brags about it!”

“What do you expect me to think?!” said Rani. “Jack can be short for James!”

“Well,” said Skully, “that was his name.”

Rani paused. “And how do you know that?”

Skully said nothing.

“Oh, my…” Rani started. “ _Holy_ … You killed him! You _actually_ killed him, didn’t you?!”

“Okay, look,” said Skully, “Bickerstaff needed Sources. And when there weren’t enough, I made a few extra. Serial killers make the strongest ghosts!”

“How many?” said Rani. “How many people did you kill?”

Skully turned back to the window, watching the cars go by. He imagined one of them swerving towards him, crashing into the passenger side, ending it all so he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. Then he mentally scolded himself. A crash like that would hurt Rani.

“I didn’t exactly count,” he forced out.

“And were they all murderers?” Rani asked.

Skully shrugged. “Some were old men who looked at my sisters the wrong way.”

Rani didn’t speak. He glanced back at her. Her knuckles had gone white as they squeezed the steering wheel too hard.

“I haven’t killed anyone since I got put in that stupid jar,” he added.

“Thanks!” said Rani. “That makes me feel so much better!”

“And, you know, if I brought him back Sources, Bickerstaff wouldn’t beat me.”

Rani glanced over at him. “Are you seriously trying to get sympathy right now?”

“…Maybe.” Rani just shook her head. “Don’t tell Lucy about this,” he added. “She still has a deluded idea that I’m actually a good person, deep down.”

Rani sighed. “You _are_ a good person, Skull. A good person who’s done awful things. Because people can change, you know. You’ve changed.” She looked over at him for a second before turning back to the road. “You really haven’t killed anyone since then? And only hurt people in defence of others?”

“…Yeah.”

Rani smiled. “Well, there you go. Maybe you were a bad person once, but not anymore. And, don’t worry, I won’t tell Lucy.”

A little hesitantly, Skully returned the smile. “Thanks, Rani.”


	6. Holly

Rani took him back to the Malik-Munro flat, where Holly was pacing frantically around the kitchen. When Skully and Rani entered, she looked up, ran over and flung her arms around Skully’s neck.

“Oh, my god! I was so worried!”

“Ah,” said Skully, “my ribs are kinda tender, can you maybe not?”

She pulled away and frowned at him. “Why? What happened?” She spotted the bruise on his cheekbone. “You’re bleeding! Sit down!”

She basically forced him into a kitchen chair and bustled around, grabbing the first aid kit and dampening a clean cloth. While she was at it, Rani and Holly’s cat, Wilber, hopped on to Skully’s lap. He gave the cat a scratch behind the ears as Holly started dabbing at his cheek with the cloth.

“He actually came off better than the other guys from what I’ve heard,” said Rani, conversationally as she filled up the kettle.

“’Guys’?” Holly repeated. “Plural?”

“Four of them,” Skully affirmed.

“How did you beat them all without using your powers?” Holly said, then she narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t use your powers, right?”

Skully shrugged. “Only a little.”

“James Walker!” Holly scolded. “You know why you’re not supposed to do that!”

“Alright, calm down, _mother_ ,” Skully said. “It was only once, and no one noticed.”

That was a lie. That stranger had noticed.

Holly frowned at him. “Then how did you beat them?”

Skully shrugged again. “Someone else stepped in.”

“Who?” said Holly.

“Were they cute?” said Rani.

Skully scowled at her. “Stop trying to get me to go out with people. Besides, I have no idea who they were and will probably never see them again.”

“You don’t know that,” said Rani. “The world works in strange ways.”

Skully yelped as Holly poked his ribs, causing the cat to jump from his lap.

“You might have broken some,” said Holly. “We’ll need to go to the hospital.”

“It’s fine,” said Skully. “I’ve already been once today. And it doesn’t hurt when no one _pokes_ me.”

Holly folded her arms. “Fine. But if the pain gets any worse you’re to go straight to the hospital.”

“Yes, _mum_.”

“I mean it,” said Holly, as Rani passed around cups of tea. “I don’t like seeing my friends in pain.”

“I’m used to it,” said Skully.

“Being used to it doesn’t make it alright!” Holly stressed. “I’m sure you were used to Bickerstaff beating you. Did that make it alright?”

Skully didn’t answer.

“Okay,” said Holly. “And what about Lucy?”

“What about her?” said Skully.

“She’s used to her mother hurting her,” said Holly. “Does that make it alright?”

Skully scowled. One day, he’d get to meet Lucy’s mother. Then he’d sort her out. “No.”

“Then what makes your pain any different?” said Holly. “I know you have a blatant disregard for your own personal wellbeing, but you have to take into account your friends who have to watch when you’re suffering.”

“All this over some cracked ribs?” Skully said, sipping his tea.

“This is about more than just the cracked ribs and you know it,” said Holly. “I mean it, James Walker, any more pain and you tell us. Got it?”

Skully huffed. Did she have to fuss over him so much? “Okay, fine.”

“Oh, wow, it’s almost two a.m.,” said Rani checking her watch. “You’d better stay here tonight, Skull. We’ll take you home in the morning.”

Holly put some bandage over Skully’s cheek before shooing him off to the spare room, where Wilber clambered onto the bed and hogged half the blankets. Skully didn’t mind much. He lay on the bed next to the cat and ran his hand over the soft fur.

Holly stopped by on her way to bed and dropped off a couple of paracetamol and glass of water. Skully hesitated once she left, then swallowed both the pills and downed the water. He supposed his ribs did hurt, after all.

He fell asleep to Wilber’s purring.


	7. Quill

Quill was his babysitter the next day. Rani picked him up on the way to drop Skully off at home.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” Rani told him, before heading off to work.

Once she was gone, Quill turned to Skully and crossed his arms. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you–” Skully snorted. “Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

Quill tried again. “I’m going to be _honest_ with you. We’d both rather be alone right now, but since we can’t let that happen in case you try to kill yourself again, we’re just going to have to cooperate, alright? I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. Deal?”

“Yeah, whatever, Quilliam,” Skully replied, shrugging as he flicked on the TV and collapsed on the sofa. Quill shot him a glare at the nickname. “Aw, what’s got you all grumpy today?”

“Nothing,” said Quill, in a manner that said there was definitely something. Then he pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and disappeared down the hall.

“Oi!” Skully called after him. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!” Quill called back.

Skully leapt out of his seat and ran down the hall, where Quill was busy unscrewing the hinges on the bathroom door.

“What the actual hell are you doing?” said Skully.

“I’m not risking you locking yourself in here,” said Quill. “I should have done this days ago.”

“Christ!” Skully cried. “What if I need to shit? Or shower? This is just perverted, honestly.”

“Well, I would’ve just removed the lock, but yours uses an actual key,” said Quill as he continued to unscrew the door hinges despite Skully’s protests. “What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned bolt?”

“Bolts are for the dark ages,” said Skully. “Now stop unscrewing the door or I’ll stab you.”

“With what?” said Quill.

“With that screwdriver,” said Skully, making a grab for it. Quill jerked out of the way.

“Look,” said Quill, “if you can honestly tell me you’re not going to try anything again, I’ll stop.”

Skully lowered his hand. Quill went back to unscrewing the door.

“You seem very knowledgeable about how to deal with this,” Skully observed, leaning against the wall and watching as the screws dropped to the floor.

“I know the drill,” said Quill. He was silent for a moment, then, “My dad had to do it for me, once.”

Skully frowned. He hadn’t known that about Quill. But then he remembered how high the mortality rate for Quill’s team had been, and how he could do nothing about it after he’d lost his Talent.

Quill finished with the bottom hinge, stood, and started unscrewing the top one. “I know we’ve never been very close,” he said. “But if you need someone to talk to…”

“I’ll think about it,” said Skully.

Quill glanced over at him. “You’re not going to go back to watching TV? I thought you’d like a moment alone.”

Skully shrugged. “I’m not the loner type of guy, believe it or not. I prefer company.”

“And yet, you’re forever single,” Quill remarked.

“I’m not the relationship type of guy, either,” said Skully. “I just… I don’t know.”

“What?” Quill prompted.

“I don’t want a relationship,” said Skully. “But… I don’t wanna be alone. You know, like what George and Flo have.”

Quill frowned. “Are they not actually a couple?”

“Have you never been to their flat?” said Skully.

Quill wrinkled his nose. “I saw George’s room at Portland Row, I am perfectly content with never setting foot in an entire _flat_ that belongs to him, thank you. Let alone one he shares with _Flo_.”

Skully rolled his eyes. “Well, they have a bunkbed,” he said. “I wanna be lifelong bunkbed buddies with someone. That’s the dream! I miss having someone to annoy all night.”

“Is that why Lucy seemed so tired all the time?” said Quill.

Skully waved a hand dismissively. “All in the past. The point is, I used to have this massive family, and you’d think I’d be happy with the alone time, but it’s too… quiet.”

Quill nodded. “Silence is not good when you’re depressed. That’s when your thoughts get too loud.” He finished unscrewing the final hinge, picked up the door and propped it against the wall, then he pocketed the screws and screwdriver. “So, you basically want a roommate who will never leave you?”

“Exactly,” said Skully. “Without the icky romance.”

“I get that,” said Quill. “Actually, no I don’t, I want _all_ the icky romance.”

“Disgusting,” said Skully. “You not getting that with your boyfriend? What’s his name? Kevin?”

“Kieran,” said Quill. “And actually, we, uh, broke up.”

“Why?” said Skully. Quill just shrugged. “Weren’t you supposed to have a fancy date a few days a-? Oh.”

Quill shrugged and walked back towards the living room and Skully followed. “It’s nothing.”

“You blew him off to mop up blood?” said Skully.

“It’s no big deal,” said Quill.

“Did you tell him why?” said Skully. Quill nodded. “And he still dumped you? For just that one time?”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” said Skully. “I mean, sorry, coz that’s sort of my fault, but also the guy sounds like kinda a dick. I could kill him for you if you want? I’m good at that. Ask Rani.”

“You know what,” said Quill. “I think I’ll be fine. But thanks for the offer.” He moved into the kitchen and started to fill up the kettle. “I just need to find a guy who’s more understanding.”

“While you’re looking,” said Skully, “find me a cool aro ace roommate who doesn’t mind dark humour and depression.”

Quill smiled. “I’ll try.”


	8. Charlie

Two weeks after the incident, Skully was allowed back to work.

He braced himself before going in, preparing for the awkward silences, the pitying looks from people he didn’t care about. Then he walked through the door.

The lab fell silent as he entered, apart from the hum of machinery. Most avoided making eye contact with him, a few attempted to give him small smiles.

Then he heard an excited shriek, and someone launched themselves into his chest.

Skully stood frozen to the spot, his arms pinned to his sides, too startled to speak. Slowly, he looked down and saw a head of bronze curls.

_The stranger from the alley._

The person tilted their head upwards, still holding him in a death grip – for someone so small, they were freakishly strong. This close, and under the bright laboratory lights, he could see every one of the dozens of freckles that adorned their golden skin. Their face had an ageless quality – they could have been anywhere between sixteen and thirty – but if they were new here they must have been around twenty-one. They looked up at him and gave him a wide, toothy smile.

“You’re not in prison!” they shrieked happily, eliciting some very startled expressions from the other lab employees. “I was so worried! And I had no idea who you were, so I couldn’t check on you. But you’re here! You work here! This is like destiny or something!”

“Yes, yes, all very exciting,” said Skully, gaining some of his senses back and trying, unsuccessfully, to wiggle free. “Now, I have kind of a reputation here as someone, you know, chill, cool, and completely _un_ approachable. So, if you wouldn’t mind, just, letting go…”

The person turned their head to eye the other employees, who were all pretending not to seem interested in the situation. They made no move to let go of him. A slow, mischievous smile spread across their face.

“Look,” Skully tried again. “You’re obviously new here, so I’ll tell you now: I am not someone to mess with. If you don’t let go of me in the next two seconds, I’ll get a bone saw from the morgue and–”

That was when the person leaned up and kissed him right on the nose.

The person finally released him, but Skully remained frozen to the spot. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and feel his face slowly turning red.

The person fingered the ID Skully kept dangling from his belt rather than attached to his shirt.

“James,” they read. They looked up again and gave him another grin. “I’m Charlie! I look forward to working with you, James!” Then they span around and skipped away, towards the morgue.

Skully blinked once. Right before they disappeared through the glass doors, he called out after them. “It’s Skully!” They turned back to him. “Skully, not James,” he said.

Charlie smiled. “See ya later, Skully.” And they vanished into the morgue.

“And what are you looking at?!” Skully shot, turning a glare on the other workers, who all looked away quickly.

He stalked over to his usual corner, flipped open some files left on his desk. He didn’t know why he’d told Charlie to call him Skully. That was usually a nickname reserved for people he actually cared about. And one thing was for sure: Charlie was to be avoided.

* * *

 

Charlie was odd, to say the least.

Some days, they seemed bubbly and outgoing, cheerfully greeting and complimenting everyone they came across. They seemed to have a talent for spotting the best in people. And everyone loved them for it, but that didn’t seem to stop them talking about Charlie behind their back. Skully wondered if Charlie knew about this and, if they did, why they were still so nice to everyone. It was unnerving.

Other days, Charlie was more quiet and reserved, barely speaking, avoiding any and all physical contact, jumping at any sudden noises. Every lunch break, they went off to eat with a boy from the medical school down the road, and on the quiet days, they would only communicate through sign language.

Skully recognised the boy from years ago, when he was still a ghost in a jar. A child from one of the other agencies Lucy had been forced to work with on occasion. He couldn’t seem to remember his name.

Either way, Skully was glad that Charlie had someone to talk to. That way, they didn’t try to pester him.

“Why does everyone act weird around you?”

Skully glanced up from the computer monitor, where Charlie had their head propped up on their hands, elbows resting on the desk. So much for avoiding them.

“Maybe because I tried to kill myself,” he replied, bluntly, turning back to the computer screen.

“Oh,” said Charlie. “I thought the bandages were some sort of new fashion trend.”

“What do you want?” said Skully.

“I am bored,” said Charlie. “Come have lunch with me.”

“No.”

“Pretty please,” said Charlie. “Having lunch alone is boring.”

“What happened to your friend?” said Skully. _What was his name? Barney? Billy?_

 “Bobby?” said Charlie. Ah, Bobby! That was it! The tiny imbecile who’d fallen down an elevator shaft. “It’s his day off.”

“Go bother him at his home then.”

“He’s probably still asleep,” said Charlie, rolling their eyes. “Come _on_. It’ll be fun!”

Skully stared at the report he was supposed to be writing. He had only written twelve words in the past hour, the reason being that today was a bad day. His limbs felt heavy, his brain didn’t want to focus, he felt as though something cold and dark was swelling in his chest, dimming his senses.

He had two options at this point: go with Charlie, or stay and let the darkness take over.

He saved the report and turned off the computer screen.

“Fine,” he said, standing. He supposed lunch couldn’t do much harm.

* * *

 

“My brother wants me to bring him a coffee,” said Charlie, pausing to read a text. “Do you want one?”

“Sure,” he said. “Make it as dark and bitter as my soul.”

Charlie looked thoughtful for a moment. “’kay,” they said, and disappeared into the coffee shop.

Skully decided to wait outside. He watched through the glass door as Charlie talked happily to a red-haired barista. They must have known each other.

A few minutes later, Charlie skipped out and handing him a cup. He took a sip and frowned. “Very funny,” he said.

“It’s what you asked for!” Charlie insisted.

Skully scowled. “This is a hot chocolate.”

“Well, coffee is way too bitter, no matter how much sugar you put in,” said Charlie, sipping their own drink, which also seemed to be hot chocolate. “I thought this reflected your soul a little better.”

“Ha-ha,” Skully monotoned, but sipped his drink. He did prefer hot chocolate, to be fair. “So where does this brother of yours work?”

Charlie pointed to the flower shop across the road.

“Incredible,” said Skully. “Is everyone in your family a huge hippy?”

Charlie seemed to think about it for a second. “Nah,” they said.

“Also,” said Skully, looking back at the coffee shop, “why the hell couldn’t he get his own coffee?”

“The barista’s his ex,” said Charlie in a hushed voice. Then they darted across the road.

“That was not very safety conscious!” Skully yelled after them, over the sounds of horns honking. They waved at him from the pavement on the other side before disappearing into the shop.

Skully huffed, looked both ways, then darted around the cars after them.

The bell atop the door chimed as he walked in. The floral scent assaulted his senses. He wound his way through the colourful maze, towards the sound of Charlie’s voice as they conversed with a man who must have been their brother.

“Are you drinking hot chocolate? You’re lactose intolerant!”

“Only a little!”

The pair of them came into view by the checkout counter. A man sat behind it, sipping his coffee, while Charlie fiddled with the old-fashioned till.

“Stop messing with that, you’ll break it again,” the man said, swatting Charlie’s hand away.

“But I like the clicking noises,” said Charlie, but they stopped clicking the buttons and reached forwards to ruffle their brother’s hair, making it stick up at odd angles. “You look weird.”

“Charming,” he replied, swiping his hand over his hair to neaten it. “That’s just what I like to hear after a new haircut. When’re you donating yours, anyway?”

Charlie toyed with their long hair, pulling a strand straight to measure against their body. “I want it to get to my hips first.”

“That’ll be another year at least,” their brother said, then he spied Skully approaching. “Made a new friend, Chara? I’ve told you before, you’re supposed to introduce new people.”

Charlie glanced over their shoulder at Skully. “That’s Skully,” they said. “And don’t call me that.”

Their brother stood and held out his hand towards Skully. “I’m Lucas,” he said. “Sorry about Charlie. They are not so great at social queues. Your name’s really Skully?”

“Jim,” said Skully, shaking Lucas’s hand. “Skully’s just a nickname. I take it ‘Charlie’ is, too?”

“Their birth name is Chara,” Lucas confirmed. “After a star in the Canes Venatici constellation.” He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing numerous tattoos, and pointed out one of a constellation on his wrist. “See?”

A star. Something pure and bright. That seemed fitting.

“I like Charlie better,” said Charlie. “Everyone knows how to say it.”

“And it's more ambiguous,” said Lucas, tugging his sleeve back down and ruffling Charlie’s hair.

“You know,” said Skully. “I would never have guessed you two were siblings. You don’t exactly look much alike.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” said Lucas.

“We’re adopted,” said Charlie.

Lucas pouted. “Dammit, Charlie! I was gonna milk it some more. Say we were like the twins from the movie ‘Twins’!”

Charlie frowned. “Which one of us is Arnold Schwarzenegger and which is Danny DeVito?”

 “Obviously, you’re Danny DeVito.”

Charlie hummed. “I like Danny DeVito. He seems nice.”

Lucas shook his head. “I think we need to have another talk about appropriate responses to things.”

“You coming to mum and dad’s for Friday dinner?” Charlie said, ignoring him.

“Ah, I can’t this week,” said Lucas. “I’m starting a new fencing class.”

“You were an agent,” said Charlie, “you can already fence.”

“I’m only gonna go for a few weeks, just to touch up my skills a bit,” said Lucas. “I’ve gotten rusty.”

Charlie scoffed. “Until you see a cute guy and end up taking the class for years, only staring at him from afar, and never asking him out, like you did with that pottery class.”

Lucas turned pink.

“Sorry,” said Skully, “but is this the Anthony Lockwood Fencing Academy, by any chance?”

“Yeah,” said Lucas, “why?”

“Oh, no reason,” said Skully, inspecting his nails indifferently.

The bell on the door chimed, and a little old lady hobbled in.

“Lucas, dear, where have you disappeared to?”

“Just a second Mrs Daniels!” Lucas called to her before turning to Charlie. “I gotta go. Don’t forget to actually eat lunch. And no more milk! It was nice meeting you, Skully.” Then he jogged off to tend to Mrs Daniels.

“Come on,” said Charlie, taking the now empty cup off Skully and dropping it in the bin behind the counter, then tugging on Skully’s sleeve so he’d follow them. “I want ice cream.”

“Didn’t your brother say no milk?” said Skully.

“Ice cream doesn’t count.”

* * *

 

Skully and Charlie bought sandwiches from the supermarket and ate them by the fountain in the park.

Charlie was strange company. They seemed to find beauty and joy in anything. They smiled at strangers, stuck their tongue out at babies, stopped to pet every single dog they came across.

The weather was mild, and an ice cream van stopped nearby. Skully bought them both an ice cream to pay Charlie back for the hot chocolate, and Charlie made him hold on to both of them while they ran up to a birch tree and hauled themself into the branches.

“What the actual hell are you doing?” said Skully, looking up at them.

“Come join,” said Charlie, holding their hands out for the ice creams.

Skully passed them up, paused, then grabbed a low hanging branch and climbed. The last time he had climbed a tree he had been drunk with other forensic anthropology students and had ended up with a broken arm.

“Hold again,” said Charlie, passing back the ice creams once he was up so they could climb higher. They both continued like that until they reached the highest branches strong enough to support their weight. They sat, side by side, on the thickest branch, Skully leaning against the trunk, Charlie further out with unnatural balance.

“It’s pretty up here, isn’t it?” said Charlie, licking the drips from their ice cream cone.

Skully looked out across the park. Children ran squealing through the fountain, not caring about the cold or their clothes getting wet, into the towels that awaited them in their parents’ arms. Dogs barked happily, tackling each other or running after the tennis balls their owners threw for them. A light breeze blew blossom petals from the trees, and they showered down upon the grass and fountain water in a whirlwind of white and pink.

“Yeah,” Skully replied. “It is.”

“Bobby never comes up here with me.”

Skully glanced over at them, where they were swinging their legs over a ten-foot drop. “Can’t imagine why.”

“So,” said Charlie, “are you like a zombie or something?”

Skully nearly spat out his ice cream. “Excuse me?”

“You feel like a ghost, but you aren’t,” said Charlie. They reached towards him and put two fingers to his neck. “You have a pulse. I’m not sure zombies have pulses.”

“I’m not a zombie,” said Skully, swatting their hand away.

“What are you then?”

“Just a person,” he said. “What do you mean I feel like a ghost?”

“How’d you make spirit-wind if you’re just a person?” they said, ignoring the question.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Skully replied. “How’d you manage to beat up those guys?”

“My mum’s a martial arts tutor,” they said. “There, I told you my reason, now you tell me yours.”

Skully narrowed his eyes at them. “Tell me what you meant by ‘you feel like a ghost’ first.”

Charlie hummed and took a bite of the ice cream cone. “I have this Talent,” they said, once they had swallowed down the bite. “I’ve never been so great at Seeing or Listening or anything, but I can sense things. Like Sources.”

“Must have come in handy on cases,” said Skully.

Charlie shrugged. “My parents never let me become an agent.” They glanced over at Skully, then back across the park. “I don’t need ghost-touch to freeze up, see? I’m on the Spectrum.”

Skully frowned. “That… actually explains a lot.” He paused to lick his ice cream, then, “I have ADHD.”

Charlie smiled. “I suspected,” they said. “But yeah, that’s the thing. You feel just like a Source.”

“How so?” said Skully.

Charlie looked thoughtful for a moment. “Like, just you being there, makes the veil between life and death thinner. Like you’re a bridge.”

“Sounds about right,” said Skully. “I did use to be dead.”

Charlie looked over at him. “You were brought back to life?”

“Yep,” said Skully. “I’m just a failed experiment.” He put his finger to his lips. “But keep it a secret. If people get any ideas about bringing back the dead, we’ll end up with another Problem.”

“But,” said Charlie, their eyes widening, “the Problem killed _thousands_ of people. Most of them children! And the ones who survived are still suffering. Lucas still gets nightmares, Bobby still has a limp. Why would anyone do something so selfish if they already knew what harm it did?”

“People can be horrible that way,” said Skully.

Charlie turned away, their expression gone blank. They both sat in silence for a moment, watching the children play in the fountain. Children who would hopefully never experience Visitors in their lifetime.

“I won’t tell,” Charlie said, at last. Then they began to climb back down the tree.

Skully followed as best he could, slipping once but thankfully on the lower branches so he didn’t have too far to fall. Then they both walked back to the hospital.

Charlie didn’t speak for the rest of the day. Skully, for whatever reason, found himself missing it, and when he got back to the apartment, which was now free from the constant supervision of his friends, he opened his laptop and searched for British sign language tutorials. He wasn’t even sure why – he hadn’t started anything that required a long-term commitment in a long time – but some part of him wanted to. Some part of him wanted to make that extra effort.

Charlie had come to his rescue in that alleyway, despite not knowing who he was. They’d treated him like a person when the rest of his colleagues had tiptoed around him. They’d taken him out and distracted him when he had been feeling low.

He couldn’t do much in the way of a thank you, but at least, on Charlie’s down, quiet days, he could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course my longest chapters are about my OCs. Oops.


	9. Flo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this one gets kinda dark. Would not recommend reading if you are in a bad place. Which incidentally I was when I came up with this fic... heh...

The knuckles of Skully’s hands were as white as the rim of the porcelain sink he was gripping. The darkness crushed down on him, oozed through his pores, into his blood, gushed around his body, weighing every muscle down. He could hear his ragged breathing, but it seemed like it belonged to someone else, like he wasn’t really there, wasn’t real.

Below, in the living room of Portland Row, he could hear his friends chatting happily. He should be down there, too. Having fun. And he had been, but then their voices started seeming so far away, and he had lost track of their conversations as gaps formed between the topics as his mind focused in and out. And without any rhyme or reason, the joy he had been feeling at being around all his friends had turned to apathy. Just like that. Like he’d stopped being a part of them, like he didn’t belong. And it was all he could do to escape to the bathroom upstairs before his crushing depression made him lose control of his powers, and he accidentally opened the gap between life and death a little wider, and all the cold, the miasma, the malaise, the fear, all leaked in from the Other Side.

His breath fogged in the air, forming condensation on the mirror above the sink.  The mirror of the medicine cabinet.

He stared at it for a moment, at his hollow, dead-pan expression reflected back at him.

He could end this.

His hand felt so heavy as he lifted it and undid the latch. The contents inside blurred into one, but as he scanned them, his eyes focused on one bottle. He reached inside and pulled it out, briefly skimming the prescription label; Lucy’s sleeping pills, for the days when her nightmares were too horrible to handle, still half full.

He held the bottle in his hand, staring at the pills through the tinted glass. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he sensed that the talking downstairs had ceased, and he heard someone call his name.

He glanced at the door, bolted shut, then back to the bottle in his hand. In the time it took them to break the door down, he could have swallowed every pill.

“Skull!”

Lucy’s voice. The handle on the door rattled. Someone swore.

“Skully!” That was A.J.’s voice, growing in pitch, frantic, scared. “Come on, speak to us! _Please_. Open the door.”

Skully squeezed the bottle, watched the knuckles on his hand turn white. In just a few seconds, he could unscrew the lid, swallow the contents.

And his friends would find him on the bathroom floor.

“I could kick down the door.” That was Flo. “But it’s pretty sturdy. Dunno how long it’d take.”

His heart was heavy. His breathing came out ragged. Blackness fogged his head. The logical part of his mind told him to remember the good things. But what good things were there, that could out-weigh everything wrong in the world? That could out-weigh this.

“Would unscrewing it be faster?” Quill asked, voice tight.

“Skully, you don’t have to do this!” Holly cried.

He didn’t want this anymore.

“Skull, _please_.” That was Lucy again, voice shaking, like she was close to tears. “Jimmy…”

But he couldn’t… He couldn’t do that to them. Not like this.

It seemed to take all of his energy to reach up and undo the bolt on the door.

The door burst open just as his knees buckled, but Lockwood caught him around the shoulders and knelt on the floor with him, holding him tightly to his chest.

Skully squeezed his eyes, not wanting to see the distraught faces of his friends. He held out the bottle blindly in a silent request for one of them to take it, hide it, and when both his hands were free he clutched at Lockwood’s shirt, needing to hold onto something, to ground himself.

He stayed like that for a while, until the darkness ebbed away enough for him to stand, to let the other lead him to his old bedroom, where Lucy stayed with him while he slept away the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Later, much later, Skully sat alone in the back garden, letting the breeze ruffle his hair, staring at the stars in the night sky. There was some strange comfort in looking up at them and knowing just how small the world was in comparison to it all. That everything that went wrong, every embarrassing moment, every stupid decision, didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

He heard the backdoor open and close, then someone sat beside him on the stone patio floor.

“Liquorice?”

Skully glanced at the paper bag in Flo’s outstretched hand. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Good, coz they’re all mine,” said Flo, shoving a few into her mouth.

“Are you being my babysitter for the moment, then?” said Skully. “Making sure I don’t wander off again?”

“I have been told that if you do, I’m allowed to stop you by any means necessary,” Flo replied. “So, don’t try anything or I’ll break your ankles.”

Skully let out a short laugh; he and Flo had always had a similar sense of humour. “That’s fair.”

“So, how long are ya gonna keep moping?”

Skully glanced across at her. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re shit at comforting people?”

“Many times,” said Flo.

Skully looked back at the sky. He breathed in a lungful of the cool night air and blew it out through his nose. “I was supposed to be getting better.”

“Wow,” said Flo. “You’re a moron.”

“Thanks, Flo.”

“I mean it,” said Flo. “You are a massive idiot.”

“Care to explain why?” said Skully, beginning to get annoyed.

“Really think you’re not getting better?” Flo asked. “Think about it. Would you have unlocked the door last time?”

Skully frowned. He’d fallen so far last time. Would he have opened the door with his friends screaming for him outside, when his soul had felt that black?

“No,” he said, truthfully.

“That, my friend, is progress,” Flo said, flicking a piece of liquorice at Skully’s head. He caught it before it hit the floor, hesitated, then popped it into his mouth.

“Doesn’t seem like much progress,” he said.

“Nah, it won’t,” said Flo. “But if you’re sat there waiting for the day when you’re all happy and frolicking in rainbows, wondering why you were ever sad in the first place, you’re never gonna get better. Coz here’s the thing no one ever tells you: There will _always_ be bad days.”

He looked over at her, where she sat, elbows propped on her knees, staring at a piece of liquorice as she rolled it absently between her thumb and forefinger.

“There will always be bad days,” Flo repeated, “but the gaps between them will get longer, and the good days will get better, and one day, the bad days won’t seem like such a big deal anymore.” She paused to flick the liquorice into her mouth. “You’ll never get better if you keep letting the bad days take over.” She stood, shoved the liquorice bag back into her pocket. “Now stop moping and come play GTA.”

Skully took one last look at the stars. In the vastness of everything, one slip up was so insignificant. No matter how long it took, no matter how many setbacks, he’d get better. He had to. And right now, killing a bunch of people in a video game sounded like a great way to cheer up.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and followed Flo back inside.


	10. George

The others went back to babysitting Skully after that. A watchful supervisor all day every day, lest his mental health decided to take another sudden dive.

That night, it was George who lay sleeping on the sofa. Skully could hear his snores from his room, but that wasn’t what was preventing him from sleeping. Nights were always difficult when he put down the distraction of his phone or a book. It was when his mind ran away with itself, jumping from one toxic, intrusive thought to another, never settling except to flash gruesome images of dead bodies or killer clowns or, of course, ghosts.

Skully opened his eyes as an old memory of his sister’s ghost flashed across his vision, hair floating around her face, eyes hollow and unseeing. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, willing the image to fade from his memory, then he glanced over at the clock on the wall, just visible in the moonlight shining through a crack in the curtains; four-thirty in the morning, and still wide awake.

Giving up all pretence of sleep, Skully sat up in bed. Maybe he could sneak out, take a walk. But where to? He stared down at his palms resting in his lap. He didn’t really feel like going anywhere. He didn’t really feel like doing anything. But anything was better than say in bed and listening to his brain verbally assault him or watching images of his dead sister flash through his mind.

Lizzy… Lizzy had ended it all. She had fallen down a hole and didn’t have anyone to pull her back out. Didn’t have her brother there to save her.

Skully clenched his hands into fists, let his nails dig into his palms.

He should have been there.

George’s snoring continued in the other room, deep and steady. Skully unclenched his hands, rubbed half-heartedly at the crescent-moon shaped cuts he’d left on his palm, then he stood up and got dressed. He silently opened his bedroom door, dimmed George’s senses with a little ghost-lock, then crept out the front door.

Stood outside on the pavement by his motorbike, Skully reached into his pocket for his keys, then swore. He’d left them in the flat. Of course he had. Every damn time. At least he actually remembered his phone.

He frowned at his bike. He could break back into his flat and get his keys, but that could wake up George. Or he could hotwire his bike, though he didn’t really want to pay for the damages.

He glanced around the street and spied the old Toyota Corolla belonging to old Mrs Jackson in the flat below his. She barely went outside anymore. She wouldn’t miss her car too much, right?

He wandered over to it. Old cars always lacked security. He patted his coat and pulled out a length of wire from the inside pocket. Of course that would still be in there from other less than legal activities and his keys wouldn’t. No matter.

Glancing around the street to check no one was around and no one was spying on him through their curtains, he jammed the wire into the bottom of the car door window and jimmied open the lock, before slipping into the driver’s seat and setting about fiddling with some wires. He let his expression slip into a satisfied smile when the car roared to life.

He shuffled through the glove compartment and found some old cassette tapes from the eighties, an era he had missed due to being dead. His only knowledge of eighties music came from Guardians of the Galaxy, and he recognised a few songs from the soundtrack scribbled onto the back of some tapes, so he shoved those ones into the cassette player and turned up the volume.

He glanced at the fuel gauge and was pleasantly surprised to find that the car had almost a full tank of petrol. That was good, as stealing petrol was so much fuss, especially when the car didn’t belong to you.

He pulled out his phone. His intended destination was rather famous now, and it was easy enough to get an address to put into google maps. Then he set his phone on the dashboard and set off, following the directions of the robotic female voice.

* * *

 

Four hours later, Skully sat in the gardens of Redwood Manor, staring down at the tarp covering the swimming pool. The pool where his sister had drowned herself. He didn’t look up as he heard footsteps approaching.

“Um, sir, the manor doesn’t open to the public until nine o’clock.”

Skully glanced up at the speaker, a balding and bespectacled man who couldn’t have been taller than five foot even. “You work here?”

The man coughed. “I give guided tours for school trips… Sir, I really must ask you to leave…”

Skully ignored him. “Tours?”

The man shuffled. “Well, the manor has a rich history. It was actually one of the most haunted locations in the north of England.” The man seemed to be getting excited about the conversation topic, forgetting that he was supposed to be kicking Skully out. “In fact, that very pool was where Lady Elizabeth Moore–”

“I know that already,” Skully interrupted him. “Tell me. The Moores. Where are they buried?”

The tour guide blinked at him. “Where are they… _buried_?” he repeated.

Skully rolled his eyes. “I’m not going gravedigging or anything. I’m just… researching stuff,” he lied. “For my history degree.”

“Oh,” said the man, his mouth twitching up into a nervous smile. “Well, I’m always happy to help fellow historians. Burial sites are not something people usually question… But the Layton cemetery is the closest and most prestigious. If the Moores were buried anywhere, it’ll be there.”

Skully jumped to his feet. “Well, I better look there, then. Thanks, Mr… What-ever-your-name-is.”

“Um… It Adams. Mr Adams,” the man said as Skully began walking away. “Will you be needing directions?” he called after him.

“No point. I’ll forget ‘em as soon as you say ‘em,” Skully called back. He took his phone from his pocket and waved it in the air. “Besides, I’ve got a map right here!”

* * *

 

When Skully turned on his phone to search for the cemetery after getting back to the ‘borrowed’ car, he remembered the several missed calls and voicemails from George that he’d ignored. He checked the incoming calls list, but there didn’t seem to be any new ones. And none from anyone else, which meant George hadn’t told the others.

Absently, he flicked through the voicemails.

 _“Hey, Skully, quick question: where the_ fuck _are you?”_

_“Listen, Jimbo, if you’ve gone and killed yourself somewhere, I am personally gonna dig up old Orpheus Society research, bring you back again, and then I’ll kill you. Or set Lucy on you. I haven’t decided.”_

_“Call me back or I’ll tell Lucy you were the one who set the table on fire last Christmas.”_

_“I’m checking for you at the hospital._ Please _tell me you’re at the hospital.”_

_“Oh, hey, so I just hacked into your computer and found the GPS tracker for your phone. See you in a few hours, arsehole.”_

“Fuck,” said Skully, after hearing the last message. He flicked to his phone settings and glared at the ‘find my phone’ option before turning it off. He’d rather _not_ be disturbed today. As long as George couldn’t track down his exact location, he’d be alright.

* * *

 

The cemetery, it turned out, was only a ten-minute drive from Redwood manor. The tricky part was finding the grave.

Skully stood in the gate and stared out across the expanse of gravestones, a mosaic of grey surrounding a mighty church that seemed to shadow the whole cemetery, forever guarding its deceased occupants. Only a few people milled about, laying flowers on graves, pulling up weeds. They paid Skully no heed as he wandered, a little wearily, towards the church; the oldest gravestones would be closer to it.

He scanned the stones, though most inscriptions were hidden under moss and lichen, or worn away with time. This was a stupid idea. He’d never find Lizzy’s grave at this rate. Besides, she might not even be buried here; she could have been cremated or buried somewhere else.

He circled the church, and his eyes were drawn to an enormous yew tree, probably as old as the church itself, the trunk so expansive it had swallowed up nearby gravestones. Its mighty foliage cast a shadow in a wide circle around it. He swept his gaze over the branches, watching the beams of sunlight find their way through gaps and making green leaves glow. His eyes travelled up the twisting branches that reached high enough to touch the sky, and down to the ones that hung so low their leaves tickled the tops of gravestones in the breeze.

He walked over to the statue of an angel, her face withered but shining in the soft beams of light that made its way through the leaves. The tips of her wings blended into the foliage, her hands reached down, mourning over the souls she guarded.

Skully brushed his hand over the stone the angel stood upon. The inscriptions carved into it were hidden beneath age-old lichen. He let his hand run over it, releasing a little of the one power he always kept under lock and key, and watched as the lichen withered and fell away, revealing the writing beneath, worn with age, but still legible.

_In Loving Memory of_

_Arthur Moore_

_6 th February 1856 – 14th June 1890_

_His loving wife_

_Elizabeth Moore_

_31 st October 1859 – 14th June 1890_

_And their beloved children_

_Jane and Emily Moore_

_4 th March 1881 – 14th June 1890_

Skully let himself sink to his knees before the grave, let himself trace his finger over his sister’s name. And the names of his brother-in-law and his two nieces he’d never had a chance to meet.

“Do you regret it, Liz?” he whispered. “Regret ending it? Or are you at peace now?”

Maybe it was everything that had built up within him over the past few days, or maybe it was just his complete lack of sleep, but something snapped. He felt his voice starting to shake.

“I should have been there, Liz. I’m so sorry…”

He let out a sudden, choked sob. He clasped his hands over his mouth to stem any more, but tears were already streaming down his face. He couldn’t seem to stop them. And, after a moment, he stopped trying. He let his hands fall from his face and instead gripped the grass at the edge of the gravestone. He let his tears fall free and spatter against his hands, let himself shake, let his breathing turn ragged. He needed this. Needed to let it all out.

He sensed someone approaching, but he didn’t look up; he already knew who it was. George Cubbins could track down anyone anywhere if he wanted, GPS or not.

“Come to drag me back?” he whispered, once his meltdown had calmed down a little.

“I lived with Lockwood for years,” said George, “I know what happens if you bottle things up. Take your time.” He moved to sit on the grass beside Skully and frowned at the names inscribed on the stone. “There’s nothing you could have done. You know that, right?”

Skully said nothing. His tears had slowed to a stop now, and his breathing has settled a little.

“It should probably be Lockwood here instead of me,” said George. “He’s the one who knows what it’s like to lose a sister. But I know what he was like all those years. And I know that the day he let her go was the day he started being able to live again. Holding onto the past just keeps you from moving forward.”

“I know,” said Skully. “It’s just… hard. How do people usually say goodbye to the dead?”

“Well,” said George, “my mum and I visit my dad’s grave every year on his birthday. Coz even though we’ve moved on, we’ll still remember him. We just clear it up a bit. Leave some–”

Suddenly he frowned, then removed his backpack and shuffled around in it, before pulling out a bundle of flowers.

“Wow, George,” said Skully. “I’m flattered, but I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

George ignored him. “I looked for you where you work first and a… person gave them to me. They said you’d need them.”

Skully felt the corner of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly as he wiped away the last remnants of tears and took the bouquet off of George. Such a simple thing made up of sprigs of elderflower and white freesias. Lizzy would have loved it. “Yeah,” he said. “I know them.”

“Are they psychic or something?” said George. “I mean, more than usual. Even _I_ didn’t know you’d be headed to a graveyard at that point.”

“I have this working theory,” said Skully as he laid the flowers at the angel’s feet, “that they’re actually my guardian angel, and that I fucked up _so badly_ they were forced to physically come to earth and watch over me in person.”

“Scientifically impossible,” said George. “But I suppose stranger things have happened.” He looked at the flowers for a moment, then stood and slung his bag back over his shoulder. “Feeling better? Ready to go home before the others find out you’re gone?”

Skully stood, too, but didn’t move away from the grave just yet. “How’re you getting back?”

“Train, of course,” said George. “Aren’t you coming with?”

“I should probably return my neighbour's car, actually,” Skully replied.

George frowned at him. “That you… borrowed?”

“Yes.”

“With permission?”

Skully coughed. “Well, I didn’t want to wake her up at four a.m.”

“You didn’t even have that many cars when you were younger!” George exclaimed. “How the heck do you know how to hotwire one?!”

Skully scoffed. “You think I stopped my life of crime just coz I was granted new life again? _Please_. I just toned it down a little.”

George narrowed his eyes at him. “Teach me how and let me drive the car back and I won’t tell.”

“Usually I’d say no,” said Skully. “But I think I’d end up falling asleep at the steering wheel otherwise, so sure.”

George nodded before turning to head back towards the exit. Skully hung back for a moment, letting his hand brush across his sister’s name one last time.

“Goodbye, Lizzy,” he said, before following after George.

He didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez this one took forever. I don't even know why. But anyway, I hope you're all enjoying this! (In a manner of speaking. Hehe... heh).


	11. Bobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some fluff because y'all deserve it after what I've been putting you through

Skully insisted on going back to work the next day, despite the protestations from the others. In all honesty, he didn’t feel like going in, but he couldn’t stay cooped up in his flat any longer. He just couldn’t. He didn’t want to just sit around doing nothing all day. He needed to do something worthwhile, something useful. Besides, he actually had a friend there now. Maybe Charlie would be able to cheer him up a little.

But, when he walked into the lab that morning, Charlie wasn’t there. They didn’t show up for the whole day, or the next, or the next. The days seemed to drag on without them there to amuse him and, despite himself, Skully was beginning to get kind of worried.

Then, on his walk through the park back to his apartment after his shift, he spied Charlie’s friend walking in the opposite direction with his nose in a textbook, looking a bit dishevelled.

“Hey, you!” Skully called as the boy walked past without looking up. What was his name again? “Billy? Barney? Uhh… Berty?” Skully tried.

The boy looked up at Skully and scowled. “Bobby,” he said, shortly. “My name’s Bobby. Do I know you?”

“Uhh,” said Skully. “No. But I’m friends with Charlie. I wanna know where they are.”

Bobby looked him up and down then turned to walk away. “I don’t give information like that to strangers.”

“Oi!” Skully protested. “If it weren’t for me you’d still be stuck down an elevator shaft.”

Bobby stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” said Skully. “You broke your leg, right? Still have a limp.”

Bobby turned back to him with narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to know where Charlie is.”

Bobby cocked his head to one side. “There have been a few people looking for them. You really their friend?”

“I work with them,” said Skully.

“Oh, right,” said Bobby. “You’re the one with the weird nickname. Bony or something.”

“Skully,” said Skully, scowling.

“Whatever,” said Bobby. Skully supposed he deserved that. “I’ll take you to Charlie if you buy me a coffee first.”

“Wow,” said Skully “I’m flattered, but aren’t you like twelve?”

“First of all,” said Bobby with a glare, “I’m twenty. Second: it’s not a date, I’m just broke and haven’t slept in three days.”

Skully looked from the deep bags beneath Bobby’s eyes, down to the textbook in his hands, then to the very full-looking bag slung over his shoulder. He remembered his days as a student.

“Fair,” he said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“I would like a venti cup filled with just espresso,” Bobby told the barista.

The barista stared back at him. “Sir… that’s about twenty shots of espresso…”

“Oh, and add one of those energy boost sachets if you’ve got them,” Bobby added.

The barista continued to stare. Bobby stared right back at him until he broke the eye contact and reached for a cup.

“Holy shit,” said Skully, as the barista finally handed Bobby his drink and the pint-sized person downed it in one go, “you’re gonna die. I’m gonna witness a death today.

Bobby slammed the empty cup down on the counter and made to leave. “Let’s go.”

Skully quickly shoved some cash into the barista’s hand, told him to keep the change, and ran out after Bobby.

Bobby lead him on a long walk, with many seemingly unnecessary turns and a lot of almost swerving into the road on his part, before coming to a stop outside one of those old Victorian houses that had been converted into an apartment and jamming the intercom buzzer half-a-dozen times. After several minutes of no reply, he gave up and banged on the door. Almost immediately, it flung open, and a dark-skinned, middle-aged man with a wild afro almost the width of the doorway blinked at Bobby and Skully in surprise.

“Mr Summers!” Bobby blurted, startled, before switching to sign language to say hello. He leaned around the man, who Skully took to be Charlie’s adoptive father, to peer down the hallway before signing, _M not in? I knocked._

Mr Summers rolled his eyes. _That woman is almost as deaf as me,_ he signed. _Who is your friend?_

Bobby was about to sign something in reply when Skully beat him to it. _Nice to meet you. I am J-I-M. Friend of C._

His signing was still a little rough around the edges, but Mr Summers beamed at him, and Bobby blinked at him in surprise.

 _Charlie could use a friend right now_ , Mr Summers signed, though, in place of Charlie’s name, he made the sign for ‘star’. _I have cleaned up a little, but have to go. Don’t fuss too much._

That last part had been addressed towards Bobby, who rolled his eyes as Mr Summers ruffled his hair on his way out the door.

Bobby ushered Skully in before shutting the door behind him and heading up the stairs.

“Who’s ‘M’?” Skully asked, following after him.

“Mrs Marsden,” Bobby replied. “The Landlady. She’s _really_ old. She thinks I’m her grandson every time I see her, but she makes good cookies.” Then he flung open the apartment door without knocking. “CHARLIE, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!”

A door opened and Charlie shuffled into the hallway, clad in star-patterned pyjamas with their curly hair a wild mess. They looked exhausted but smiled when they saw Skully.

“Are you still sick?” said Bobby. “You might have anaemia. Let me see your gums.” He reached towards Charlie, but they jerked out of the way. “I need to know if they’re pale,” Bobby insisted. “Are you low on energy? Have you had any desire to eat dirt?”

“Why are your pupils so big?” said Charlie.

Bobby ignored them and barrelled into the kitchen. “You need iron!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Did you give him caffeine?” Charlie asked. “His doctor told him he’s not allowed it anymore.”

“Uhh… No…” said Skully. He opted to change the subject. “So, are you doing okay?”

Charlie grinned at him. “Did ya miss me?”

Skully shrugged. “Everyone else at work it boring. So, are you ill?”

“I’ve been better,” said Charlie.

“You didn’t forget to drink for three straight days again, right?” Bobby called from the kitchen. “I’ve told you to set reminders on your phone!”

“I keep forgetting to set the reminders!” Charlie whined, heading into the kitchen to better converse.

Skully followed after them. It was pretty clean, if somewhat of an organised mess of colourful kitchenware as well as succulents perched on the windowsill over the sink. A large window with a balcony overlooked the street below. The dish-washer hummed as Bobby rummaged through the fridge-freezer, and Skully spied several photographs stuck to the door with magnets, including a few featuring a much younger Charlie, Bobby, and Lucas. He was particularly amused by what looked like a photo of a two-year-old Bobby who was screaming his head off because his ice cream had fallen on the floor.

“You two have known each other a while,” he remarked.

“He used to live next door to us with his grandma,” said Charlie. “Until she died, and he went to work for Fittes.”

“What have I told you about giving people too much information,” said Bobby. “Stop telling everyone my tragic backstory. Why do you only have frozen chips and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets in here?”

“I eat what I want,” said Charlie.

“And that is why you’re anaemic.” He shuffled about some more before letting out an “Ah ha!” and pulling out a bag of frozen broccoli that was shoved into the very back corner of a freezer drawer.

“Nooo,” Charlie whined.

“You’re eating an entire bowl of this or I’m taking away the Nesquik,” said Bobby. “It’s just a shame there’s nothing I can put it with.”

“Food mixing is bad,” said Charlie.

“Thanks, but I’m not taking culinary advice from someone who eats tomatoes like apples and pronounces the G in lasagne,” Bobby replied, unconcerned. “Now go play with your friend, you child.”

Charlie narrowed their eyes at him. “How’s your dad?”

“Stop calling Mr Kipps my dad,” Bobby said, scowling and shooing Charlie out the door. Charlie just stuck their tongue out at him before dragging Skully into the living room, where a blanket fort had been erected in front of the TV.

“How old are you again?” he said.

“Several thousand years,” said Charlie, falling backwards into the pile of cushions. “I don’t know why all my I.D.s say twenty-two.”

Skully plopped down into a beanbag next to them. Charlie picked up a plate of brownies from the coffee table and offered him one. “I made them myself,” they informed him.

The brownies were heavenly.

“Thanks for the flowers,” Skully said after scoffing down three brownies in one go with no shame.

“Lucas picked them out,” said Charlie. “Your friend told me I look like a small elf.”

“That’s a compliment coming from George,” said Skully. He squinted at them. “You do kinda look like an elf.”

Charlie threw a cushion at him.

“Your friend said you’ve been sad again,” they said. “Do you need a hug?”

“I’m fine,” said Skully.

“Don’t reject a Charlie hug,” said Bobby, entering the room with a bowl full of steaming broccoli, fresh out of the microwave, which he shoved in Charlie’s face. “They’re rare.”

“They try to hug me all the time,” said Skully.

“That’s not fair!” said Bobby. “You never hug me!”

“Skully is huggable,” said Charlie, poking the broccoli and wrinkling their nose.

“What is it about me that makes me so ‘huggable’?” said Skully. “So I can tear it from my being and burn it.”

“You just give off very strong ‘hug me I’m sad’ vibes,” said Charlie.

Skully nodded. “So, I have to set myself on fire.”

“No!” Charlie protested, flicking a piece of broccoli at his nose. “No dying allowed.”

“Well, same goes for you, Charlie,” said Bobby. “Eat your damn broccoli.”

“It is gross.”

“It has iron in it. You need iron!” Bobby insisted. “Honestly, you’re just the worst at looking after yourself. Why do you even live alone?”

“Coz you said I keep you up all night by playing video games and you can’t possibly live with me without growing to hate me,” Charlie said.

“I’m not your only friend,” said Bobby. He eyed Skully. “Do you have a flatmate?”

“Um… No,” said Skully.

“There, see?” said Bobby, turning back to Charlie. “You can live with him!”

“Do I get a say in this?” said Skully.

“Charlie’s a great flatmate!” said Bobby.

“What was that about you not being able to live with them coz you’d grow to hate them?” Skully said.

“That’s just me,” said Bobby, waving his hand dismissively. “I need complete silence to study. You don’t have you study, so you’ll probably be able to put up with them. Plus… you know? You’re friends, right?”

The timer on his phone starting chiming and he ran back into the kitchen.

“So,” said Charlie, once he had gone. “You wanna move in next week, or…?”

Skully glanced around the room. Charlie had a vast collection of books and video games and DVDs, most of which he was a fan of himself. It was clean, the air smelled like brownies and fresh linen, the street outside was quiet. If he had a flatmate, his friends wouldn’t feel pressured to babysit him constantly.

 “Can we have a bunkbed?” he said.

“Only if we can have our own rooms as well for our things,” said Charlie. “Will you do all the washing up? I don’t like food bits touching my hands.”

“Only if you bake a lot,” said Skully, taking another brownie.

“You know that’s more washing up, right?” said Charlie.

“I am aware.”

“Then deal,” they replied.

Bobby came back in, this time with a plate of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. “Can we watch Finding Nemo?”

“Don’t you have loads of assignments due soon?” said Charlie, stealing a nugget.

“Hush,” said Bobby. “Disney and nuggets first, work later.

“Now who’s a child?” Skully remarked.

“I didn’t get to have much of a childhood,” said Bobby, “I think I’m entitled to doing childish things now with no shame.”

And, as Skully lay in the blanket fort, with Charlie curled up next to him in a blanket burrito, stealing nuggets off Bobby while watching sentient fish swim around the ocean on TV, he supposed the kid was right. There was no harm in embracing your inner child now and again. In letting yourself relax and have fun.

He was going to enjoy living with Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired


	12. Lucas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kevin hart voice* it's about to go down

“Can I stay at yours tonight?” said Skully, hovering in the doorway to the morgue, idly scrolling on his phone. “Mine’s full of boxes right now.”

“Sure,” said Charlie, from where they were sticking boxed organs into the freezer, “it's basically yours too now, anyway. Can we have take-out and stay up all night watching scary movies?”

“I thought that was implied?” said Skully.

It was getting late, and everyone in the forensics department, aside from Skully and Charlie, had already gone home for the night. Outside, what could be seen of the sky through the forensic department’s basement windows was already black, the moon and stars were obscured by dark clouds, and rain beat harshly against the glass. Skully grimaced; he’d forgotten his coat.

“Lucas says he’ll stop by after his fencing lesson to give us a lift back,” said Charlie, “so we won’t have to walk in the rain.”

“Your brother is a saint,” said Skully. “You nearly done?”

Charlie gestured to the body on the metal slab, covered with a white sheet. “Gotta put him away f–”

Without warning, the fluorescent lights in the morgue flickered and fizzled out and plunging them into almost pitch-black darkness.

Skully frowned up at them. “Maybe it’s ghosts,” he joked. “We _are_ in a morgue.”

“I don’t sense any Sources,” said Charlie.

“Kidding, C,” Skully said, but he frowned again when the lights didn’t come back on and cars alarms started to screech outside. “Is it a power cut?”

Charlie went over to the window and stood on their tiptoes to peer out. “All the other buildings’ lights are on.”

Behind them, something clattered against the floor. Skully whirled around and squinted into the darkness.

“Maybe it’s just Lucas trying to find us,” Charlie whispered, voice fearful.

“Maybe,” said Skully without much conviction. Something was wrong here.

He switched the torchlight on his phone on and shone it around the empty lab, its glow casting grotesque shadows against the walls.

There! Something had moved. A shadow had flickered over in the corner, but when Skully cast the torchlight over there, it was gone.

“I’m not someone to mess with!” he called into the darkness.

Maybe it was just kids, sneaking in to get a peak of a dead body. Then again…

“Any of the people in those freezers die of unnatural causes?” he asked Charlie, not taking his eyes off the dark laboratory.

Charlie didn’t get a chance to answer. Something, or someone, lunged out from behind a desk and smashed the phone out of Skully’s hand before he had a chance to defend himself. It skidded across the floor, and as it did, the light cast shadows of other hidden figures. A lot of them.

Skully threw a punch at the guy who had attacked him, but it was so dark that his aim was off, and his fist barely grazed the man’s shoulder. Instead, the man caught his arm and yanked it painfully behind Skully’s back. He struggled, but someone else hit him around the head with something solid and metallic; a microscope, maybe. His head rang, and spots burst before his eyes. It wasn’t enough to make him pass out, but it was enough to make him sluggish, making it easier for the first guy to yank Skully’s other arm behind his back and hold it there in a lock.

Skully vaguely registered more people run past into the morgue, heard Charlie yelp, then the sound of a fist connecting with a nose, a sickening crunch, and a man grunting in pain. He heard more struggling, equipment being knocked over. He tried to pull himself out of the man’s grip, to help Charlie, but he was still sluggish, and the man unnaturally strong.

The sounds of struggling ceased, then the lights flickered back on, illuminating the dozen or so burly men, two of whom gripped Charlie’s arms tightly to keep them from escaping or causing any more broken noses.

“Well, well,” said a voice, “two for the price of one.”

Skully looked up and glared at the figure who’d spoken. The slicked-back hair, the toad-like mouth, the physique of an upturned pear…

“ _Leopold Winkman_ ,” Skully spat. “How’s mummy and daddy? Oh, _wait_.”

Leopold turned and appraised the ex-ghost coolly. “And you’re that manky skull Carlyle liked to carry around like a teddy bear. I did wonder if they managed to bring you back.” Idly, he walked over to the metal slab and flicked back the sheet from the corpse’s face, revealing a gaping black bullet wound right in the centre of the dead man’s forehead. “I see you got my present,” he said to Charlie. “Had to find some way to keep you busy past normal hours, I’m afraid.”

Commotion sounded in the lab outside the morgue, and three more men dragged a bleeding Lucas in.

“Found this one trying to get in,” one of them said. “He matches the description of Lucas Cain, don’t you think, sir?”

Leopold smiled, if that’s what you could call his wide mouth stretching back to reveal yellowing teeth. “He does indeed.”

“ _Summers_ ,” Lucas growled, glaring at Leopold beneath his bleeding brow. “My surname is _Summers_.”

“I don’t think that’s what your birth certificate says,” Leopold replied, smirking. “I can’t believe this! _Three_ for the price of one! I am gonna get so much money. Do you lot all huddle together like penguins or something?”

Skully’s eyes darted from Lucas, whose head was hung as blood trickled down his face and dripped on the floor, to Charlie, who was still frantically wriggling in their captures’ hands. Leopold seemed to take great joy in his confusion.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” he cooed mockingly with a gleeful grin. “Did you think you were the only escaped experiment?” He laughed harshly as Skully gaped at him. “There are some members of the Orpheus Society who will be _thrilled_ to have you all back.”

“They’re all in prison,” Skully spat.

Leopold laughed again. “Don’t you know how the world works yet? Rich white people? They don’t stay in prison for too long.” He turned to eye Charlie’s hysterical struggling. “Can someone shut it up, please?”

One of the men raised a microscope.

“Touch them and you’re _dead!_ ” Skully hissed.

The man with the microscope eyed Skully reproachfully. Leopold tusked, then he flicked away the edge of his coat to reveal a pistol strapped to his belt, which he removed and toyed with thoughtfully.

“Make any trouble for us,” he said, calmly, “and you’ll be the one who’s dead. Or maybe I’ll shoot your friends instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Skully growled. “We’re worth too much.”

Leopold smiled. “I was only asked to bring in Chara Callaghan. And they didn’t specify dead or alive.”

He raised the pistol, pointed it towards Charlie’s head…

Then he seemed to change his mind and pointed it at Lucas instead.

A shot rang out. It seemed to shatter the very air they were breathing. The only sound that seemed to follow was the blood roaring through Skully’s ears, his heart pounding in his throat. He could only watch as Lucas crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath his lifeless form from the fresh gunshot wound in his head.

“NO!” Charlie shrieked, and with it, the cadaver lockers seemed to shake. It must have been a trick of the light, but the body on the slab looked like it twitched.

“Still think I wouldn’t dare?” Leopold said, reattaching the pistol to his belt.

He stood there so calmly, so ready to end a life, his soul so black and festering that no light shone through. Skully felt pure, cold rage burn in his chest. That was his friend Leopold had so easily slaughtered. That was Charlie’s big brother. And these men, these cold, heartless _pigs_ had watched it all without even flinching.

Skully decided something, then. A similar thought process to that night in Fittes house when he’d chosen to save Lucy and A.J; these men, all of them, they didn’t deserve to live. Charlie, though. Charlie did. He had to make sure they did.

So, he let out a little of his power.

The man holding him released him with a yell as if he’d been burned, and he backed away quickly, staring down at his now swelling hands, at the purplish hue spreading up his arms.

Charlie used the distraction to wiggle free of their captors and lunge towards the slab. Leopold screamed a frantic “STOP THEM!” and a man grabbed Charlie around the middle and hauled them back, but not before their fingers brushed against the corpse’s cold, dead cheek.

The lights in the room flickered, the temperature dropped so rapidly that frost began to form on the windows and Skully’s breath puffed out in front of him. Over on the metal slab, green other-light seemed to shimmer around the body…

Then the dead man opened his eyes.

The man holding Charlie gave a yell and staggered back as the corpse sat up on the slab. With eye’s like frosted glass, it scanned the room before resting its gaze on Leopold Winkman, its sallow face twisting into a look of pure fury.

Released from the men’s grasps at last, Charlie scrambled away from them into Skully’s outstretched arms, and he pulled them away from the dead man as it dragged itself from the slab and lunged towards Leopold.

Leopold stumbled back, fumbling with the pistol at his belt. Managing to free it at last, he fired three shots at the walking corpse, but they did nothing to stop it from advancing towards its murderer.

“HELP ME YOU IDIOTS!” he shrieked at his henchmen as the corpse reached him and wrapped it’s cold, dead fingers around his throat. Unfortunately for him, most of them were too busy making a hasty retreat.

One stayed, though. Perhaps he was Leopold’s most trusted and loyal henchman. He tried to drag the corpse away from his boss first, but the thing wouldn’t budge, so he turned to Charlie.

“Stop it now, you little bitch!” he hissed, storming over to them.

Blood had stopped trickling down the side of Skully face, but his head still throbbed, and he felt sick and exhausted. He doubted he’d be able to use his powers, or be much use at all, but still, he put himself between Charlie and the man, shielding them as best he could.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he said, “but I think your boyfriend over there kinda deserves what he’s getting.”

The man gave a roar of rage and surged towards them…

Then someone struck him around the head with a microscope from behind.

The man crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold, and behind him, Lucas lowered the microscope, and Skully stared.

“Lucas!” Charlie cried, running into their brother’s arms. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heal that time.”

Lucas spat something out on the floor – a bullet, Skully realised – and rubbed the side of his head. “Oh, man, I am gonna have _such_ a headache.”

Over on the other side of the room, Leopold thrashed about on the floor, clawing at the fingers grasping his throat, his face slowly turning purple.

“Time to stop, Charl,” said Lucas, gently.

Charlie walked over to Leopold and the dead man and brushed their fingers against the corpse’s shoulder. Immediately, all signs of life left it, its fingers slipped from Leopold’s neck and it slumped forwards, trapping its killer beneath it.

Leopold struggled to push the corpse off of himself and failed miserably; dead people were much heavier than the living. “GET THIS THING OFF OF ME!” he wailed.

“Say you’re sorry first,” said Lucas, mockingly.

Leopold stared at him. “You-you’re… You’re _dead_. I _shot_ you!”

Lucas cocked his bloody head to one side and frowned at Leopold. “Your bosses not tell you our powers?”

“They told me _Callaghan’s_ power!” Leopold cried. “It was the only one who was supposed to be here!”

“Refer to Charlie as ‘it’ one more time and see where it gets you,” said Skully, coldly.

Maybe it was something about the look in Skully’s eye, but Leopold shut up sharpish. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were that of the ghost-touched man groaning. He should count himself lucky he was in a hospital, Skully thought.

Then Charlie swayed on the spot and collapsed.

Skully managed to catch them before they hit the floor and their head lolled lifelessly back in his arms. “Charlie? Charlie, can you hear me?”

“It’s the exhaustion,” said Lucas, “takes a lot to raise the dead.”

Outside, sirens came within earshot.

“Someone must have heard the gunshots,” said Skully.

Lucas swore. “Charlie won’t be able to talk to the police! And how the hell are we gonna explain this?”

Skully looked from the man groaning from ghost-touch, to his unconscious comrade, to Leopold still struggling beneath the dead-weight (pun intended). “We’re in a morgue,” he said, “wouldn’t be too unlikely for Visitors to turn up, don’t you think? Especially if their murderer's nearby. I can handle this. Take Charlie home.”

Lucas frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

Skully gave him a loose grin. “I deal with cops all the time. Trust me on this.”

Lucas still seemed a little unsure, but he scooped Charlie’s lifeless form into his arms and stood. “Meet us at Charlie’s flat when you’re done, and I’ll explain everything,” he promised before fleeing from the morgue.

Skully turned to Leopold. He still had a little energy left. “Now, listen to me,” he said. “You came here to dispose of the evidence of your criminal activity –” He gestured to the corpse – “But his ghost showed up and attacked you. Caused a lot of commotion. Understand?”

Leopold stared up at him with wide fearful eyes before nodding slowly.

“Good,” said Skully, smiling.

A few minutes later, police officers and paramedics rushed in, and a familiar voice said, “Are you _kidding me_?!”

“Oh, hey, Rani!” said Skully, smiling cheerfully.

She glowered at him. “Why am I not surprised you’re here? What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” said Skully, gesturing to Leopold, “another criminal wanted to cover up his tracks. Too bad the ghost of his victim showed up. Pretty powerful one, too!”

“Strange,” said Rani, suspiciously. “Visitors hardly ever show up anymore.”

“I know, right!” said Skully, cheerfully. “But I guess a morgue is the most likely place for them.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Rani, her mouth twitching upwards in barely concealed amusement, then she set about sorting out the mess.

* * *

 

Hours later, Skully, soaking wet and freezing, pressed the intercom to Charlie’s flat and Lucas buzzed him up, then wrapped him in a clean towel and sat him down with a freshly made cup of tea by the blazing fire that was burning in the old Victorian fireplace.

“Charlie okay?” Skully asked, towelling off his hair.

“Still passed out,” Lucas replied. He had cleaned the blood off his face and was looking a little more alive, though there was something hollow in his eyes as he stared into the flames.

“So,” said Skully, “are you an ex-ghost too, or…?”

Lucas frowned at him. “You used to be dead?”

“I take it you didn’t, then?”

Lucas shook his head. “Nah. We’re just some kids whose parents didn’t want us. Kids who wouldn’t be missed.” He sipped his own cup of tea while still staring into the fire.

“They experimented on you?” Skully said.

“Didn’t exactly want to try it on themselves first,” Lucas replied. “They wanted to find ways to live forever or bring back the dead. Guess it finally worked, huh?”

“You’re immortal?” Skully asked.

“Nah,” said Lucas. “I just can’t get hurt. I can still die of natural causes. At least… I hope I can. I still age.” His eyes grew wide. “Oh god, what if I live forever and still age? I’m gonna be so wrinkly!”

Skully laughed. “I think you’ll be fine. Do you still get sick?”

“Yeah,” said Lucas, “colds and stuff.”

“There you go then,” said Skully, sipping his tea. “So, are there more people like you and Charlie?”

“As far as I know, we’re the only ones it worked on,” Lucas replied. “I’m pretty sure there were more kids before me. And definitely ones after. No idea why I’m so special.”

Skully stared into the fire, at the glow it shone on the bricks at the back. “Maybe it’s your soul,” he said. “Maybe it has to be pure.”

Lucas laughed shortly. “That can’t be the reason.”

“Why not?”

Lucas glanced across at him then back to the fire. “My soul can’t have been pure. I watched so many kids come into that place and never leave, and I did nothing to help them.”

“What about Charlie?” said Skully.

Lucas shrugged. “They were such a bright little thing. The only other kid who survived, like me. And they were so sweet, I guess they inspired me, sort of.” He wrapped his hands tightly around his mug of tea, holding it close to his chest. “The members of the Society, they started to trust me after a while. Let the security go slack. So, one day, I grabbed Charlie and ran. Straight to the nearest station. Didn’t tell them anything, just that we were two homeless kids. We got taken in by a foster family.” He smiled. “’course, mum and dad decided to keep us.”

“How old were you?”

“I was thirteen,” said Lucas. “Charlie was four.”

“You saved them,” said Skully.

“And what about all the other kids?” said Lucas, bitterly. “I didn’t save them. I didn’t even try.”

“You were just a kid yourself.”

“I know,” said Lucas, “but knowing that doesn’t bring them back. And I try to do good… to make up for it. But who knows if I ever will.”

“You will,” said Skully, with conviction. “You have.”

Lucas frowned. “I have?”

“You have,” Skully repeated.

Lucas couldn’t see his soul, couldn’t see how bright it truly was. But Skully could. Despite his past, Lucas’s soul was one of the brightest he’d seen. Skully stared down at his hands. Despite _his_ past, maybe his soul was bright too. Maybe it could be. If he kept trying.

A door in the hallway creaked as it opened and, a moment later, Charlie shuffled into the living room.

“Feeling better?” said Lucas.

“No,” they said. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“They’re all gonna live, unfortunately,” said Skully. He set his tea on the coffee table and stood. “Lucas has been telling me all about you too.”

“Do you think I’m a freak?” said Charlie.

“I think we’re all freaks,” said Skully. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” He held out his arms towards them. “You’re giving off very strong ‘hug me I’m sad’ vibes right now.”

“That’s likely,” said Charlie, and they wrapped their arms around his shoulders.

The evening had been rough, awful, terrifying. He thought his friend had died, was sure _he_ would die, or worse, be dragged off to some institution where he’d been experimented on.

He could feel the last dregs of adrenaline wearing off, leaving him completely exhausted. His head pounded, though the nurses had patched it up and given him painkillers.

Maybe it was Charlie’s powers of necromancy, raising the part of Skully that was still as dead as that skull that had been stuck in a jar, but holding them seemed to warm him to his very core.

Or, maybe, this was just what he needed; a hug from a friend.


	13. Lavender

Skully was getting better. He still had a long way to go, a _long_ way, but he was getting better. He knew he was. As Flo had once promised, the good days got brighter, the bad days stopped seeming so bad. And even when they did, he had new found ways to keep himself going until they went away. Something Charlie had taught him the first time his mood had plummeted after moving in with them: To think of one thing, just one thing, that was worth living for. It didn’t even have to be something big.

Charlie had found him, that first time, lying on his bedroom floor staring at the ceiling. They had asked him what was wrong.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he had replied, though his voice had come out hoarse. “I don’t think I can stay like this. I don’t want to. Not anymore.”

Charlie had sat down next to him. Their expression gave nothing away, no sign of worry or fear. They pulled out the pen they liked to keep in their pocket to click when they were nervous, and started doodling on Skully’s arm. The pen nib tickled his skin, and the sensation of feeling something other than numbness calmed him somewhat.

“The new Avengers movie’s out tomorrow,” they said. “At least wait ‘til you’ve seen that.”

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting them to say. The new Avengers movie? That was so trivial, so stupid. But… he had been looking forward to seeing it.

And that was all it took. Just that little thing to get him through. And by the time he’d seen the movie, the bad feeling was gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

He continued like that for a while. Every time he got down, he thought of a reason to live. Sometimes Charlie helped, but mostly he liked to think of things on his own.

Little things: It was A.J’s birthday’s soon, and he wanted to be there for the look on his face when he get’s his present; laser quest with Flo and George scheduled tomorrow; Charlie’s cutting off their hair for charity; Lucy needing him for security at her book launch…

And on it went.

Christmas Eve, about a year after he’d moved in with Charlie, he sat with his friends in the living room of Portland Row and felt himself faze out, felt the darkness grow in his chest. Remembering the last time this had happened with all of his friends so close, he slipped out of the living room, lay on the floor in the library and let Lucy and Lockwood’s dog, Apollo, drape himself on his chest, the pressure and the feel of his soft fur calming him a little bit. He tried to think of something. The obvious was Christmas day, opening presents, but for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like enough.

Then Charlie found him. They set up a Christmas film and doodled little squiggles on his arm.

“Lucy’s got a secret,” they said.

Skully frowned. “What secret?”

“Wait and find out.”

When Lucy came and found him a few minutes later, she did seem a little off. A little peaky, but happy. Her hand idly brushing her stomach every now and then.

 _A secret_ , he thought. What could Lucy be hiding?

He numbed his senses with Bailey’s and passed out until Christmas morning, by which point Lockwood was acting way more giddy than usual.

A secret.

This was just frustrating. He _had_ to know. But for that he had to wait.

He didn’t feel quite himself again until about two weeks later when the dull ache in his chest finally ebbed away.

And a few days after that, Lucy revealed she was pregnant.

* * *

 

The road to recovery was a rocky one. Skully fell down a lot, but it was easy enough to pick himself back up again, most of the time.

A few months passed before he felt seriously down again, but when he did, it was bad. His mind wouldn’t let him think of anything to keep him going. It all seemed pointless. That was when Charlie found him toying with a kitchen knife.

“I can’t–” he started, but his voice cracked halfway through. He knew he couldn’t get through this one alone. So, he did something that seemed to take every ounce of his willpower. “Help,” he said.

Charlie calmly took the knife from him and put it back in the drawer. Then they took his hand and led him out the door. They didn’t bother with coats. They needn’t have, anyway; the April night was mild.

Charlie led him through side streets and alleys, twists and turns. Skully didn’t register the direction they were headed. The streets all blurred into one as his mind zoned in and out of focus. He only comprehended where they were when they were right on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row.

Lockwood answered the door when Charlie knocked. He seemed too excited to even question why they were there and ushered them in immediately.

“Come on, come on!” he gushed, practically dragging them into the living room. “The baby’s started kicking!”

Once in the living room, he went back to his wife where she sat on the sofa with both hands on her swollen belly.

“Come here,” Lucy said, beckoning Skully over and grabbing his hand when he was close enough. She pressed it to her warm stomach, her hand staying covering his to hold it there. “There,” she said, grinning up at him. “You feel that?”

It was a strange sensation, feeling the soft thump as this tiny human inside Lucy’s belly kicked its tiny legs enthusiastically.

“Oh, wow,” said Lockwood, pressing his hand near Skully’s, “it’s really going at it, huh? Must like you, Skull.” He grinned his gleaming smile at him before turning to coo at Lucy’s stomach. “Hey, baby! That’s your Uncle Skully! He’s gonna try and teach you how to break the law and stuff, but don’t listen to him, okay?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You are such a dork. The baby can’t hear you.”

“Sure it can!” said Lockwood. “Hey, Charlie? You wanna feel?”

Charlie shook their head.

“Come on,” said Lucy. “I won’t put my hand over yours, I promise.”

A little hesitantly, Charlie shuffled over, and Lockwood moved his hand, so Charlie could set theirs there instead. They smiled when the baby started kicking again.

“She’s strong,” they said.

“We don’t know if it’s a she yet,” said Lucy. “We’ll find out in a couple of weeks.”

“She’s a she,” said Charlie, moving their hand away. “What will you call her?”

“Well, if it’s a _boy_ ,” said Lockwood. “I was thinking Rapier!”

“I am not naming my son Rapier,” said Lucy, firmly.

“Why not?” Lockwood whined. “It’s a great name!”

“He’ll get bullied!”

“And if it’s a girl?” said Skully, interrupting their bickering. “What will you name her?”

Lucy rubbed her stomach and smiled fondly. “Lavender,” she said. “She’ll be a Lavender.”

“Lavender,” Skully repeated, and the baby kicked again right where his palm lay. His little niece, Lavender.

Skully and Charlie stayed for some tea and biscuits before making their leave. On the walk back, Charlie took his hand again and squeezed it.

“Stay until you see her face,” they said.

Skully managed a small smile. “Okay.”

* * *

 

On the twenty-first of September that year, Skully made his way up to the recovery rooms on the second floor of the hospital. He was the first visitor, seen as he worked just a few floors below, and when he knocked on the door, a very scruffy, exhausted-looking Anthony Lockwood with fresh tear-tracks on his face pulled him into a tight embrace.

“She’s perfect,” he managed to croak. “She’s so perfect, come see.”

He led Skully over to the bed where Lucy sat, hair a wild mess, sweat beading her brow, huge bags beneath her eyes, but positively glowing as she cradled the little bundle in her arms.

“Hey,” she half whispered, stroking the baby’s little pink cheek with her thumb as Skully approached. “Here, baby girl, say hi to your uncle Skully.”

Skully walked slowly closer, quietly so as not to wake the sleeping baby, and looked down at the tiny form in his best friend’s arms.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he whispered, a smile tugging at his mouth. He felt a lump forming in his throat but swallowed it down. “I, uh… I got her a present,” he said, reaching into the gift bag he was carrying and pulling out a stuffed giraffe. “Got it at this charity thing. Some old ladies knitted it. I thought maybe you–”

He was interrupted by Lockwood releasing a sob.

“ _Dude_ ,” said Skully.

“I’m sorry,” said Lockwood, wiping at his eyes. “I just… It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s just a dumb toy,” said Skully, shrugging, but Lockwood took the giraffe off of him and stared at it like it was made of gold before placing it on the bedside table.

“Tired, Luce?” said Skully as Lucy stifled a yawn.

“Nah,” she said, going back to staring at Lavender like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You need a little rest, my love,” said Lockwood, gently brushing Lucy’s hair away from her forehead.

“I’m fine,” said Lucy.

“You’re a goddess,” Lockwood said. “But you need a break after all that. Here, why not let Skull hold her for a bit?”

“Just for a little while,” said Lucy, her eyelids already drooping as Lockwood gently took Lavender off of her and set her into Skully’s arms.

“Remember to support the head,” he said.

“I’ve held babies before, A.J.,” Skully replied. “I mean, about a hundred and forty-odd years ago, but still.”

He cradled Lavender and sat with her in one of the chairs while Lockwood went back to Lucy and lay in the bed with his arm around her, both of them dozing off.

“Hey, Lav,” Skully whispered to the child. “When you’re older, I’ll teach you how to kill guys who try and get too handsy, okay? And maybe also how to hotwire a car. Just don’t tell your parents.”

A text came through on his phone. With one hand still cradling the baby, he retrieved it and read the text Charlie had sent:

_Still want to go?_

Skully brushed his thumb against Lavender’s cheek. For such a little thing, she was so warm. Here, he thought, here was a reason to stay. Something that would last. Everything from her first words and first steps, to the day she got married and had children of her own, he had to be there for all of it.

The door to the ward opened.

“Hey,” George whispered. “This her?”

“Meet Lavender Carlyle- Lockwood,” Skully replied.

George frowned down at the baby. “It’s so ugly,” he said. Skully glared at him. “What? All babies are ugly. It’s just a fact.”

“Don’t let Lucy catch you saying that,” said Skully. “You bring the sunglasses?”

“Got ‘em here,” said George, patting his bag. “But they didn’t do a size for new-borns for some reason.”

“We’ll make do,” said Skully. “Quick, before those two wake up.”

He stood to follow George out the room, but before he did he looked over at Lucy and Lockwood. The two of them lay in the bed with Lucy curled up to Lockwood’s chest, both of them fast asleep. A kid with their genes, Skully thought, was definitely gonna need a powerful ex-ghost to keep her safe.

With one hand, he held Lavender close to his chest, and with the other, he typed out a reply to Charlie:

_Never._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN!
> 
> Omg, that was a wild ride. I'm kinda sad that it's over. But I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
